There used to be a little book-and-art-and-handmade-goods store on the North Shore of Chattanooga back in the 2010’s, when I was attending university nearby. Coming from the small and culturally dead town that I grew up in, places like these were new, and novel, and made me feel like a real adult just for being within them.

It was in this little store that I was first introduced to the concept of zines.

No one in my family had any association with alternative culture back in the 80’s or 90’s. Punk was just something you called teenagers when they acted out. There was no underground, no second or third option to the quiet, repeating monotony of consumption and tradition that was small town life back then.

All of this to say, I was intrigued – why would someone staple together black and white Xerox prints and sell them for four bucks at a store? What was this?

It was around this time, and thanks to discoveries such as these, that I was introduced to a great many new ideas surrounding governance, economy and class. And many of the zines in that little store were full of such new and alien ideas. But one little booklet in particular contained a singular line that has stuck with me for the past fifteen years:

“I just feel like there is more we can do for one another, as human beings, than buying and selling one another things.”

Given the location of this zine, in a part of the city considered hip and artsy, I recognized the irony of such a statement in a bundle of stapled paper that was, in fact, for sale. But we were all artists in those days, riding the waves of hipster nihilism and irreverence for any and all established structures to unknown horizons. We needed money for beer, American Spirits and rent. We scrounged materials out of the trash and made art to sell. It was beautiful, and fun, and felt so important at the time.

But in the end, none of it ever really liberated us. And even with as many artists who are out there now, with more ways to sell and promote yourself through social media, shows, conventions, and video, I can’t help but feel that the world is no better for it. Paving our own way as artists, eschewing desire for corporate status in favor of a live lived in creativity and honesty, was supposed to fix something. Maybe not everything. but something.

It feels now that for every problem that rises, there is a shirt and a sticker and a hat to be bought, so that you too can show you are part of the solution. There is a new reason to be afraid or disgusted or dissatisfied with things that you already have – but don’t worry, we’ve made a newer, better one with a green label.

And even as art continues to pour from our souls and our bodies, how rare is it now to find art that has not yet put through the wringer of marketability? A feeling become idea become commodity. It’s not wrong to make your living in such a way. Paying your bills by selling keychains, shirts, stickers, mugs, and myriad other goods. Creating art perfectly crafted to move those products off of your shelves and put money in your pocket.

But I don’t want to do it anymore. I am so tired of it all. I am tired of creating more things, copies of ideas, manufactured and packaged and shipped to take up more space in a world so crowded and littered with things. Things can be beautiful. But there are just so many.

I don’t know what to say. What to do about it. With our safeguards and promises failing all around us, I simply feel like there must be something better we can do.