Jan 6, 2026

I’m exhausted—completely exhausted—by all these comparisons.
Isn’t there another way? This is exactly why I’m angry at the people around me. No, I’m not in conflict with them. I’ve created the freedom to say what I say. But the reality is this: I am sick of the question “Which one is better?”
Especially in art.

Constantly assigning value to something by comparing it to something else is, above all, an insult to art. We can no longer enjoy the details of a film, a series, a book, or a historical building without measuring it against another. It’s a kind of escape. And more than that—it’s a disgusting form of laziness. We stopped thinking about details, about criteria, about why something works.

Ironically, thank God for artificial intelligence—at least it has shoved the depth and meaning of words back in front of all of us. We’ve started questioning again.
What is art?
First of all, we must genuinely answer these questions:

What is art?
What is its criterion?
What is an artist?
What is a work of art?
Is everything an artist creates a work of art?
Is cooking an art?
Who is art for?
If there were no valuation, would art still exist?

There are countless more questions. What exhausts me most is this confidence everyone has—this chest-out certainty—of commenting as if they know. Where does that assurance come from? I’m tired of pretending I know.

How did all of this even make it to today? And yet people ignore all of this, assume they’ve reached some sort of maturity, and define art and life through criteria with unbelievable ease. It’s draining. It drains everyone.

Who cares about awards anymore?
Who gives a damn about listen counts?
The parameters of value have multiplied so much that no one can even keep up. People have forgotten how to focus on forming their own interpretations.

First, we should know what we are defining and how. I think simply—I’m a simple person. If music is being listened to, it’s music. If a film is being watched, it’s a film.
But now, sharing a work of art—whatever is still allowed to be called “art”—has turned into something resembling ass-kissing. Did they like it? Did they understand the message? Bla bla…
That’s not what art—or a work of art—should be.

I’ve been thinking about what art is for a long time now. It’s difficult, but I’ve focused on it. I still don’t have an answer. My skeptical way of living feels like a trap I’m stuck in. For now, I have only one criterion:
the effort to transform one reality into another reality.

Cave paintings are considered art too. That’s imitation. Representation. An attempt to recreate.

Does it really matter who made it?
Isn’t the message what matters?
Or at least the fact that it pushes you to extract meaning?

And to the artists losing their minds over AI—hello. I couldn’t care less.
What kind of artist is afraid of poverty?!

That’s why art must be distant from value systems and parameters—free and original. And originality must be defended. Billions of people have lived and died; of course someone, somewhere, has thought something similar to you. That knowledge should not prevent an artist from creating.

“Producing something completely unique” is a cheap lie of our era.
Art does not have to be unique—it has to be original.
Original does not mean unique. They are different things.
But then again, do definitions even matter anymore?

I cannot accept what exists now.
This level of certainty and arrogance is unacceptable.
This is not a matter of knowledge.

The real issue is comparison being treated as a criterion.
You should not be able to say “this is better than that.”
A work of art should be placed on the table and thought about.
“Better camera angles,” “better guitar solos”—all bullshit.

A work of art is about what it evokes. About the pleasure it gives. Everyone has an opinion. Even someone who has never seen a film before would form an opinion after watching one. Art is about association. About depth. It inspires metaphor. It makes life more meaningful—and more complex.

Sometimes the artwork is questioned. Sometimes the artist.
The reason behind the effort should matter more than the amount of effort itself.

“He spent billions making this film.”
Or the opposite: “He made this film with almost no money.”
Those are economic questions.

If art is judged through value, it becomes nothing more than a market. But art existed long before economics and money. That definition was made long ago.

“He lost both his eyes making this film.”
Maybe.
And yet art gets wasted on such stupid questions. It becomes ordinary, consumable, overproduced.

And this isn’t just about art—today, not everything deserves time. Millions of films are made. I’m not angry about that. What angers me is the disrespect toward what is created. Don’t devalue something just because there’s a lot of it. Isn’t that exactly why humanity is burning?

Anyway—I’m digressing. Everything is connected anyway; my mind keeps drifting.

If a work of art is to be evaluated by a group, it should be evaluated through the associations it creates, the sensations it gives, the meanings it produces, the thoughts it inspires. I doubt I’m the only one affected by a single line, a single scene, a single building.

Life itself is about seeing and perceiving.
Art turns this into something more associative—almost sacred. Even primitive cave drawings clearly show this: an effort, an audacity, a desire to leave a trace.

This makes life more virtuous, more ethical. Yes—there should be rules even for the smallest things. Don’t look at me as a traditionalist. This is loyalty to definition. Otherwise, we lose reality.

If we don’t respect meaning enough, nothing will mean anything. And precisely because nothing inherently meant anything, humanity—unintentionally—created meaning.

This is not a subject I’ll end here. But we must stay away from distractions. We must taste the depth of art. Speak of it like a memory. Turn it into a story when telling friends. Be relaxed. Don’t force it.

Because everything feels like it’s losing its meaning.