What it’s like to create in a world that wants to own you.
The global economy is now controlled by elite billionaires like Elon Musk and Peter Thiel, the two globalists behind the current political situation in the now-defunct United States. Others—Zuckerberg, Ek, Bezos, Murdock, Arnault, Ellison, Gates, and Page- join them.
All men, all white. It’s what it is.
Privacy is gone and has been gone for years. Next on the agenda is a world where copyright is dismantled and tech elites can appropriate artists’ work freely; the stakes for creating art shift drastically.
Why create?
Traditional motivations—personal expression, cultural impact, making a living, or even legacy—can feel hollow when art becomes fuel for for-profit machines that don’t necessarily honor or respect the creator’s intentions or ownership.
If everything an artist makes can be used freely by others without legal recourse, this poses a huge existential question for creativity.
Where do we go?
What follows may read as radical, but it’s real and nothing more than a return to making art for the original purpose you began in the first place.
1. Art as Resistance: In a system that commodifies creativity for the elite, making art becomes an act of defiance. Artists create specifically to challenge, mock, or subvert the structures that aim to exploit them. Art becomes an underground language, a form of coded rebellion that speaks truths and values in direct opposition to the interests of tech-controlled systems. Think of it as art with a purpose to expose rather than earn.
2. Meaning and Legacy Beyond Ownership: With copyright and profit removed, artists will question what they’re creating for. It’s about legacy, but in a radically different way. Creating something lasting becomes an assertion of values, ideas, and narratives that transcend individual ownership. The purpose of art is to return to where it began. Paint like a caveman; tell a story, record the world around us, leave a mark. In a post-copyright world, art is about community, ideology, and collective experience. Art is the message, not the currency.
3. Alternative Cultural Influence: If the elites’ goal is to monopolize the value of art, there’s potential in creating works that evade their reach by design. Artists might lean into mediums or spaces less susceptible to corporate or technological exploitation. Think back to zines, underground radio, local murals, or pop-up performances—art that exists in spaces that resist mass reproduction or automation, art that exists “off the grid.” We’ve lived in this world before. We will live in it again. I started my art in an underground world. I’m happy to return there. I feel betrayed, not by politicians or society but by myself. I made the mistake of supporting corporate mainstream political positions to stop an erosion of political rights—a waste of my time. I feel used.
4. Control Over Exposure: In this world, artists might choose not to release every creation publicly. This, ultimately, is the only choice. No online Instas or Spotifys. The very act of withholding becomes meaningful. Art could be shared in smaller, private spaces without data mining, reducing its accessibility to tech giants. Physical gatherings, word-of-mouth performances, or untraceable forums could become the new art platforms—spaces where the work can be experienced but not exploited.
5. Direct Community Interaction: In a post-copyright world, authentic, face-to-face interactions might matter more than digital ones. I believe it’s already this way. Live events, theater, and concerts have incalculable value. Sharing art within tight communities means the work isn’t broadcast broadly, reducing the chance the elites will mine it. This brings art back to a more human, grounded exchange that can’t be monetized or scaled easily.
6. Deconstructing Value: With the elite controlling the monetary value of art, the artist’s power lies in redefining value itself. Art might evolve into something that’s not meant to be consumed, archived, or owned but experienced fleetingly, leaving only its impact rather than a product.
The choice to create in this scenario becomes political. It’s not just about making something beautiful or meaningful; it’s about deciding what art means when traditional motivations are no longer valid. Artists don’t create for elites—they create to defy them, to communicate with each other in ways that tech cannot capture, and to find personal or communal value outside of a corrupted system. In a world designed to monetize art for the few, creation becomes an act of reclamation.
I am a working artist. I used to earn my living with royalty, but now it’s about fees. There is no backend, and I do not expect that to return. Upfront fees are much less than they used to be, but in many ways, it’s cleaner. Work-for-hire. I’m an entrepreneur, so I build businesses and have a couple out there. They are designed to create and sell work to bigger corporate entities. It’s a one-time sale for us, without any ongoing profit. The market currently offers a percentage of 2% on intellectual property. However, the value of an ongoing IP in our post-copyright world is questionable, so I focus on an outright sale. Take it, and we’ll go back to creating.
Here are some ideas on how to squeeze revenue from art in a post-copyright world.
The digital domain has turned into the Plantation. We have the Masters of the Big House - Zucks and Musks - the Overseers, Facebook, X, Spotify, Substacks, etc. - and the Field Hands who work for free - writers, composers, producers, actors, artists. We are entering the Post Platform Age. Content creators are asking for your direct support. If you like someone, love someone, and have a direct subscription or membership to their site, you'll make all the difference in their work.
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