Artist mustn't heed the advice of culture, regurgitated upholstery on slightly modified furniture. History weeds out the copy machines. It works for an hour or so. Consumers get blasted in the face with a new fad and then it disappears. Time is the first ingredient.
Art doesn’t cater to people or preferences, manufactured desires. Art mustn't fit to please, please to fit the pre-existing mold. Art isn't created to appease anyone but the creator, and the creator is the only authentic part of any of us.
In a vain and shallow artificial universe, financial success is the only success. Where failed attempts at interstellar communication make new and interesting worlds obsolete, where planets infinitely collide in orbit, one can't tell the difference between stardust and an astroid field.
Creator mustn't manipulate creation to fit the void the world has left for art, but must invite people into one’s own world. Whether one's world has any gravity falls short of tabula rasa. Upon graduating into incarnation, whether one's world ever fits into the cosmos is a matter of pomp and circumstance. Where corporate splendor rules the universe and the only role for art is bread and circuses, perhaps money and marketing are the only ingredients for a functioning solar system.
One can only ride out the Bandwagon for so long, maybe take in some modest wage, but eventually the gutter is inevitable, where one will surely be kicked off en route. The world of my creation functions independently of me, and some future generation will discover it in a matter of time and space. I only hope I’m still around in some form to experience it.
There is no purpose to this universe as there is no purpose to art. Inspiration is the spark which ignites time and space, and creation is the currency of the universe. In a world where everyone seems to be following the laws of the land, in pursuit of imaginary currency, imaginary security, imaginary love, imaginary fame, some of us have no choice but to pursue the universal art.