The culmination of (and perhaps even the justification for) a mind towards the Arts is the commission for a T-shirt design.
I once knew a man who owned 2 beach homes, earned 6 professional degrees, and had 8 arms… but he was no one, because he had never been asked to design a T-shirt.
The client in want of a T-shirt (A local, short-lived band, an esoteric activist group, a charity event no one has ever heard of) is the sole source of meaning and longevity to the talents of the Purveyor of Design (The graphic artist, the photographer, the second cousin who will work for $20 and a sense of value).
Jackson Pollock was never asked to design a T-shirt, and he was shit. Probably because of this.
I, of course, have never felt the cold hand of existential artistic nothingness, as I have always been asked to design T-shirts -if my memory is correct- since the dawn of anthropological being.
