He considered himself a painter,.. but not an artist.

Being an artist did not pay: each brush stroke invites a person to be offended; each choice of color risks being cancelled on social media. If a person wanted to eat, they needed a relationship with an art dealer and paint what they could sell. And what sells are paintings not offensive to anyone,.. while having the appearance of being intellectual and intrinsic. So, he painted “Abstract art” to stay alive. Modern art was about the dealer, not the artist.

The Painter arrived at the family picnic the same way everyone arrives at a family picnic: with anxiety and an escape plan. In the backyard the show was already on; two alphas, emotionally dominant aunts, fighting for territory, trying to hold the most attention. They never stopped talking. They circled like sharks and could smell a private conversation like blood in the water; interrupting it with false sincerity as they pretended to know… everything. To protect themselves, everyone else would just watch the show and only risk short interactions, superficial in nature; mostly quick anecdotes or sharp ridicule. Social camouflage.

This day, however, was once in a lifetime. With the world being more tense it only stands to reason; the two alphas locked onto each other and argued over politics. They usually respected each other, gave each other space while they worked the goban. But, there and then, they squared off and debated the important issues of the times. Or so they thought. One made bold statements without any supporting evidence and was attacked for believing baseless lies told by the media. Then,.. they switched roles and the other made bold statements without any supporting evidence and was accused of believing conspiracy theories. Round and round,.. back and forth.

Everyone watched, only half listening. There was joy at the insanity of the spectacle, but the energy was too intense for anyone to pull their attention away. The alphas were oblivious to the effects of their behavior on the people around them. Like generals in a war, they were completely focused on each other, on winning the fight, while ignoring the carnage they left in their wake.

The Painter found himself, like the others, getting agitated. His anger was rising… he was able to watch it rise as he would a giant wave coming to shore. He stopped it, from reflex,.. like everyone else did, he was certain. Pushed it back down a little, but then it let rise again. Back and forth he worked the energy. For some reason, at this point in his life, he was able to control it. He wanted to let some out,.. he made the choice.

He kept the energy steady and focused as he allowed it to form images in his mind. Images he would try to share with words like journalists once had. In a solid voice, stern but not angry, (confident?) he spoke to the two alphas. They stopped and looked at him a little shocked. He was unmoved. The Painter told them that they were making fools of themselves. They were not addressing anything, and thus not solving anything. Their words would not change anything, or anyone. In fact, politically, the very act of such empty and vainglorious argument was the problem, and would only reinforce the toxic social culture. If they indeed wanted to change the world, they should try finding the value of the people around them instead of just fighting to keep their attention… to keep control.

The others were impressed. To them it was his words that reached the alphas and shut them down,.. for a while… just long enough to eat. After the food they got back at it again, but it was different the second time. Everyone else was quick to start their own conversations and enjoy themselves while the alphas were distracted.

From the perspective of The Painter, however, it was the energy that stopped them the moment before he spoke. 

While he ate, The Painter’s mind filled with images of Samson and Delilah and the evolution of human behavior; of civilization. We would not be where we are today if Delilah never seduced Samson, or if Samson gave up,.. if he didn’t find the real source of his power; his confidence; his self esteem. He saw the Ten Commandments as common sense today, but he considered a world where the Ten Commandments were new, and people had to fight their own instincts to follow them; like an alcoholic resisting a drink put in front of them. 

The Painter was certain the evolution of civilization required this process to happen thousands, if not millions of times… over and over again, many different ways, and at many different levels: the physical manifestation of strength, expressed with arrogance, undermined by an evolved emotional awareness used to gain dominance. Then, in turn, physical strength evolves, becoming sincere, adapting to the new environment. Was this it? Is this what we are experiencing? Democracy undermined by propaganda in the new temple of social media.

It must be. This cycle, this process never stops. Humanity was challenging itself again in order to evolve. Every single person, addicted to old behaviors, fighting a desperate battle against their own instincts in one form or another. Every single person would have to adapt or die. Not to the physical environment, but to the emotional environment… to each other. 

Eventually, the alpha females realized that no one was paying attention to them. They broke off the argument and started circling the waters. It didn’t take too long for them to get everyone under their control… once again… back to normal.

But, it was too late. A crack appeared in a column of the temple. 

The Painter decided to become an Artist.