Lmfao

Why you should laugh about the followers you lose  ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ Lmfao Why you should laugh about the followers you lose ​ --------------------------------------------------------------- Could you do me a huuuuge favor? - Go to my artist profile on Spotify ([just click here]()) - Once there, click the "follow" button Why am I asking you to do this? Spotify's algorithm prioritizes artists with followers. I'm new to the platform, so I essentially have none. You taking just 2-seconds to follow me makes a genuine difference. Thank you. --------------------------------------------------------------- Now, in classic Cole fashion, I'm going to write you a long, meandering essay about why you should celebrate the followers, subscribers and readers you lose. Every time I write [The Process](, I lose subscribers. I know because my fucking email software likes to constantly remind me of this reality. In my last newsletter, I lost 100 subscribers. In the newsletter I sent before that, I lost a whopping 190 subscribers. Losing subscribers used to make me want to hurl a hatchet through the screen of my laptop. Nowadays, it makes me smile. Not a gentle smile like the one etched across the beautiful, plump face of Buddha––although I am genuinely trying for this degree of inner peace––but the grin smeared across Joaquin Phoenix's face at the end of The Joker as he's dancing on the hood of a battered cop car surrounded by hundreds of lunatics as crazy as him. Let's pretend for just a moment The Joker wasn't a mentally-deranged, blood-thirsty murderer; and his obsession with coercion and corruption were replaced with an affection for art. It's likely The Joker's life and career as an artist wouldn't look all that dissimilar to Andy Warhols. For one, Warhol was constantly in disguise. The Warhol we know and love wasn't actually the real Warhol. It was a facade he had created for himself that added to his fantastic allure. Warhol dyed his eyebrows, wore make-up, glued silver wigs to his head––which he called "getting glued"––and some say wore a mask (or some sort of exterior filler) after a botched nose job. Because of Warhol's strict adherence to self-preservation, it's difficult to know how old he really was at any given time. When you look back on old photographs of the artist––some of them taken decades apart––they all blend together like newspapers. I would say the same could be said for The Joker. You read Warhol's quotes and, like The Joker, it's difficult to decide whether he was absolutely brilliant or out of his gourd. I think he might have been a little bit of both. Perhaps this is what made him such a tremendous artist. What's most fascinating about Warhol, is that while he seemed to care a great deal about what others thought of his appearance, he couldn't have cared less about what the world thought of his art. There is a sobering line from Warhol commenting on his prolific approach to the creation of art... “Don't think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they are deciding, make even more art.” Can the same not be said for The Joker? His face paint is fabulous and meticulous and that red suit he wears is perfectly tailored. All that being said, we must approach our work as creatives like Andy Warhol approached the creation of art and The Joker approached coercion and corruption: with impeccable style, unmatched prolificness and a devil-may-care attitude. You have precisely one job as an artist. To make art and a lot of it. Your job as an artist isn't to judge whether your work is bad or good nor worry about what the audience will think. That's the job of the critic. If you want to be a critic, go get a job critiquing art. But, if you want to create art, stop acting and thinking and behaving like a critic. Whether your art is praised or thrashed shouldn't matter because, amid all the chatter, you're busy in your studio or at your writing desk creating more art. With that said, I also recognize that no matter how hard you try, it's impossible not to think about the audience (particularly in the moments when you notice your audience dwindling). Something that I've really struggled with––and I imagine a lot of creatives have struggled with––is losing readers, followers, listeners and subscribers. It always hurts. But, here's a mental framing I use to help it hurt less... As your audience shrinks, it becomes increasingly more valuable. Let's pretend you're an aspiring singer-songwriter. Playing for free at the county fair isn't such a terrible gig starting out. In fact, it's a fantastic gig. You get to practice your craft in front of thousands of people. The problem, of course, is that these people aren't paying much attention to you. They're deep-throating corndogs, chugging Mountain Dew slushies and waiting in line for their turn on the Tilt-A-Whirl, Scrambler or Zipper. An aspiring singer-songwriter plays the country fair for free for the chance to turn a handful of the twenty-thousand people in attendance into raving fans. The hope for the aspiring singer-songwriter is that after several dozen free appearances at several dozen county fairs, they will eventually have a handful of fans that love their work so much, they'll be willing to cough up their hard-earned money to see them perform in a more intimate setting. The aspiring singer-songwriter plays for the masses knowing they will lose 99% of them to find their truest, most loyal fans. You don't make a living as an artist by becoming popular to the masses. You make a living as an artist by becoming essential to a small number of people. Because of this, losing readers, followers, listeners and subscribers should be celebrated. With each person you lose, you're getting closer to the truest essence of your fanbase. This is why The Joker is dancing on top of the cop car whilst grinning from ear-to-ear. He's finally found his audience and he knows they'll travel with him to hell and back. By [Cole Schafer](​ P.S. Now please go [follow me on Spotify](). You can always unfollow me later––and when you do, I'll try not to give a fuck. --------------------------------------------------------------- Speaking of Andy Warhol... You should consider enrolling in this course inspired by him ​ ​[Dirty Jobs]( is a low-lift course that will teach you how to start freelancing with no experience (it was written to AC/DC's Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap so it's safe to say it "fucks"). Dirty Jobs is taught via email and comprised of just seven battle-tested freelance lessons parsed out over seven consecutive days. [DID I MENTION IT'S FREE?]( --------------------------------------------------------------- The Mark Rothko Effect Rules should be considered but not blindly followed Songs are "supposed" to be three and a half minutes long. Frank Ocean's Pyramids is nearly ten minutes long. Films are "supposed" to be 120 minutes long. Martin Scorsese's Irishman is 209 minutes long. Novels are "supposed" to be 120,000 words long. Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 is 46,118 words long. Rules in art aren't so much rules but suggestions. They should certainly be considered, yes. But, they don't have to be accepted. [GIVE ME A BREAK]( --------------------------------------------------------------- "I am a [ ]." A short meditation in doing away with labels ​ We apply labels to the world around us to help us make sense of our experience. We do this constantly with ourselves... "I am a Christian." "I am a Buddhist." "I am a Republican." "I am a Democrat." "I am a lawyer." "I am a painter." It's worth asking ourselves if this habit of labeling is truly adding to our experience. When we apply a label to ourselves, we become tempted to embody that label the way water embodies the shape of the glass it enters. Is this a good thing? I cannot say for sure. What I will say is the kind of "all or nothing" behavior that comes with embodying the labels we choose for ourselves grants us a very limited view of the world. What if we dedicated a little time each day completely doing away with labels? Try moving from one experience to the next as a label-less being. Simply exist in each of the day's moment the way an unbiased narrator would. [LOSE THE LABELS]( --------------------------------------------------------------- [[linkedin]​]() ​ [Update your email preferences]( or unsubscribe [here](​ © 2024 The Process 113 Cherry St #92768, Seattle, WA 98104-2205