J.D. Cunegan

Confession: I hate small talk.

Mostly because I’m not particularly good at it. But I also grew up believing no one cared what I had to say about anything, so I’m prone to wondering what to say in some social settings. Not to mention the question hanging over my head: “Does this even mean anything?”

One of the reasons I write is to infuse the meaning as I see fit. That doesn’t preclude my audience from injecting their own meaning, nor does their perceived meaning necessarily negate mine. That’s the beauty, and the frustration, of art.

Also, when I’m writing, I can separate myself from the question of whether or not people care. Sure, the audience can say “No, I don’t” by not consuming my writing, but there’s a wall of separation in that exchange that simply doesn’t exist in conversation.

Another side effect of small talk: when the conversation inevitably shifts to what I do. And all the baggage that comes with it, borne from living in a society that both treasures and disrespects creativity in equal measure. I’m equal parts fascinated and frustrated by that dichotomy, but it highlights one central philosophical tenet of my existence:

Creativity is labor.

There’s No Hate Like Intense Love
Think back to the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic. We’re all stuck in our homes, only daring to venture outside if we’re masked up and keeping our distance from others. What were you doing when you weren’t busy doomscrolling?

You were probably watching something. Reading something. Trying to learn a new skill.

In times of discontent and struggle, humanity has long turned to art. That Netflix series you binged. Those old movies you revisited. That insanely popular musical that dropped on Disney+. That new Ukrainian metal band you discovered thanks to YouTube reaction videos.

Yes, even those sourdough recipes you pored over.

We turn to creation to fill in the cracks of life. When things don’t make sense, we seek meaning in the arts. Our lives are filled with television, music, podcasts, games. Stories across genres, in all different formats. Even the ads we’re constantly bombarded with–those are creations! People spent time and energy and finite resources to brainstorm and execute them. People trained for years, even decades, to hone their skills and refine their expertise for our benefit.

Yet we always seem to be having this argument over whether or not the people who create the things we turn to deserve to make a comfortable living.

We value creativity, but not creatives.

Imagine falling in love with a TV show, but believing the people who created it–both in front of and behind the camera–don’t deserve to make a living from it. Imagine believing art to be frivolous, while desperately begging for the next Game of Thrones novel.

The cognitive dissonance is baffling to me. Because as far as I can tell, we don’t do this in any other field. No one ever questions how much an accountant makes in helping families and businesses maximize their finances. We don’t tell engineers their bridges aren’t valuable enough for the investment. We don’t chastise Congress for taking off half the year when they’re not busy trying to dismantle cancer research or healthcare for the poor.

We devour creations, but we refuse to respect creators or pay them for their labor.

Ultimately a Matter of Respect
Consider every time there’s a strike in Hollywood (or even in professional athletics). We shout at labor, tell them they should be thankful for whatever they have. We see the astronomical sums of money the most popular and best in those fields make, and we assume everyone in those fields makes that kind of money.

Spoiler alert: they don’t.

But even if they did… siding with the billionaires and the corporations–entities with a vested interest in not paying people–is a hell of a take. Particularly today, when the gap between the elite and the masses has never been wider.

Why do we feel so entitled to someone’s creative work, but they’re not entitled to fair compensation for that work? We don’t do this to accountants or plumbers or engineers. We don’t tell electricians they’re being greedy when they bill us after fixing or updating our switchboards.

Why am I greedy for charging $4 for a novel? That took years to make, from concept to final, published product?

Personal theory: for too many of us, work is not fun. But the creative disciplines are fun. Therefore, being creative cannot possibly be a career. Because if we can make a good living out of having fun and expressing ourselves, then people who are miserable in their non-creative careers might have to confront some truth they’re avoiding.

If it Wasn’t Important, it Wouldn’t Be in Danger
Whenever I hear someone complain about how voting doesn’t matter, the counterargument is simple: if voting didn’t matter, we wouldn’t see certain people in power doing everything to ensure we can’t do it. The same is true of creativity.

Book bans are a modern tool of oppression, another example of authoritarian causes pushing back against creativity simply because they realize creativity is a powerful anti-authoritarian tool. You’ve probably seen all the tools in the fascist toolbox over the course of history.

Banning books. Burning libraries.

Cutting funding for arts and theatre.

Demonizing those who dedicate their lives to creating. Deriding artistic expression as childish, a one-way ticket to a life of poverty.

So, I once again pose the question: if these things really didn’t matter, then why are the capitalists and the would-be dictators working so hard to silence us?

Because creativity does matter. We prove it every day.

The written word, the striking painting, the moving musical score… they move us. They touch us in ways we can’t always express. In fact, art is often a catalyst for real-life change. Art is the way we break down stereotypes and drive empathy toward the marginalized.

The powers vested in “othering” marginalized groups don’t want us viewing them as fellow human beings. People with agency and dreams and goals and desires. Because if we see them as human, if we see our similarities rather than our differences, then authoritarian cruelty cannot thrive.

If we learn about the atrocities of the past, we can both prevent them from happening in the future and recognize when they’re unfolding in the present.

Look at everything being attacked or banned. They’ll scream about decency and protecting children, but the fact remains the art that’s being challenged or destroyed is art that makes us more fully human. And those in charge right now can’t have that. They want us mindless, obedient, and at each other’s throats.

Art dismantles that ideology.

For Further Inspiration
I’m far from the only one to argue the value of creativity, and the need to revere and respect the practice like every other vocation. It’s my hope that if enough of us beat the drum of art and expression loud enough, often enough, the tide will eventually turn.

Because there has to be more to life, more to being human, than exploiting and extracting from others. We need to find the value in beauty, in tragedy. To be creative is to be human, and not all value can be measured on a spreadsheet or a stock exchange.

Consider adding these books to your shelf:

• We Need Your Art: Stop Messing Around and Make Something by Amie McNee
• The Creative Act: A Way of Being by Rick Rubin
• Your Brain on Art: How the Arts Transform Us by Susan Magsamen and Ivy Ross
• Down With the System: A Memoir (of Sorts) by Serj Tankian
• On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King

About J.D. Cunegan
J.D. Cunegan is known for his unique writing style, a mixture of murder mystery and superhero epic that introduces the reader to his comic book-inspired storytelling and fast-paced prose. A 2006 graduate of Old Dominion University, Cunegan has an extensive background in journalism, a lengthy career in media relations, and a lifelong love for writing. Cunegan lives in Hampton, Virginia, and next to books and art, his big passion in life in auto racing. When not hunched in front of a keyboard or with his nose stuck in a book, Cunegan can probably be found at a race track or watching a race on TV.

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