You ever finish a piece—song, painting, design—and just sit there thinking:
“Cool. Now what? Who’s even gonna see this?”
We know that feeling.
We live in it.
This shit isn’t easy. We’re not making art from luxury lofts or funded by grants and galleries.
We’re making art between shifts. Between breakdowns. In garages, kitchens, and whatever corner of the internet still feels like ours.
We’re not influencers.
We’re not trendsetters.
We’re survivors with style.
So why do we keep doing it?
Because if we don’t make this art—we disappear.
And we’ve spent enough of our lives feeling invisible.
Art as a Weapon. Art as a Mirror. Art as a Middle Finger.
We’re not making art because it’s popular.
We’re making it because it hurts not to.
Because everything else feels fake.
Because the system is built to drain you, flatten you, and sell you back your soul in monthly payments.
So we write songs.
We draw messed-up, beautiful things.
We slap a design on a shirt and pray someone sees it and goes,
“Yeah. That’s exactly how I feel too.”
This isn't some aesthetic.
This is therapy with teeth.
You're Not Broken. The World Is.
Maybe you’ve been told you’re “too sensitive.”
Maybe you’ve been made to feel like your passion doesn’t pay, so it isn’t worth anything.
Maybe you’ve wondered if you’re wasting your time chasing a dream that doesn’t return your calls.
You’re not the problem.
The system is.
And your art? That’s your refusal to disappear.
That’s your middle finger to the algorithm, the boss, the fake smiles, the soul-dead brand managers trying to "monetize authenticity."
They don’t get to have your voice.
They don’t get to own your story.
And they sure as hell don’t get to tell you what matters.
Keep Making Shit. Even If Nobody’s Watching (Yet).
Every piece you make is a crack in the wall.
Every post. Every riff. Every sketch. Every weird-ass shirt you launch with zero budget and a half-broken Shopify account—it all counts.
It all adds up.
So keep making the art no one asked for.
Because one day they’ll wish they had.
And when they come around, we’ll already be 10 steps ahead, armed with paint, passion, and enough sizzle to cook the whole damn steakhouse.
— Joseph Inviere