If there’s anything postmodern art does, it “obliterates the line—or the brow—separating the high from the low,” American sociologist Todd Gitlin once wrote. With pretention around the arts crumbling, bit by bit, over the past few decades, its barriers to entry have been lowered to what was originally seen as the high arts. We live in an era where the butcher’s son next door could be the next Rembrandt—but at the same time, the belief prevails that it’s nearly impossible for a significant new “Art Movement” to rise. Philosopher Arthur Dante spoke about “the death of the arts”: for him, art is finished and there is only art theory left—a big thank-you goes out to Duchamp, who might be held accountable for its murder after he transformed an upside-down urinal into a masterpiece.

To that, we say: nonsense! To call out the extinction of art is a weak move; an easy way out; an unfortunate, misplaced point between two phrases. Our time in the here-and-now is just as fertile for innovation in the arts. In fact, you probably couldn’t pick a more perfect time to start your own art movement. Why is that, you ask? Because everybody has a bit of Damien Hirst inside of them, and, perhaps more importantly, everyone’s a bit tired of Damien Hirst. And that’s where you come in: you, with your idiosyncratic mind like a bursting volcano, spouting out the hot lava of creativity.

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You can’t paint, sculpt, write, or play an instrument? Don’t worry ‘bout a thing. The big thinkers among us already know that actual content is a less-important worry. Just follow this careful, almost surgically thought out guide, and before you know it, you’ll have created an art movement of your very own. Take hold of this opportunity with both hands.

Step 1: Do (almost) exactly the opposite of what has been done just before.

Funnily enough, this is the easist step: observe what the current dominating art movement is doing, and—besides keeping a few key characteristics alive—do exactly the opposite. Important note: keep the Hegelian dialectic in the back of your mind always, so that you—who have a monopoly on your own wisdom—are always a step ahead of the competition. It’s actually a quite simple idea: the German philosopher saw that all results in history are born out of opposing forces. The conflict that arises between these forces, once the dust has cleared, settles into something new. There is an existent thesis—from this arises an antithesis, which together form a synthesis. Simple as that.

In practice, it works something like this: in the beginning, there was the male. He was purely alpha, wore suits, had beards and moustaches and refused to shave in some delicate places (thesis). An opposing force—seemingly out of nowhere—the well-groomed man was born: subtly made-up here and there, and wearing colorful clothes (antithesis). Of course, this all felt a bit unbalanced, and thus we’ve reached today’s male models with beards (synthesis).

In art history, we see the same phenomenon. Following controlled Realism, the more sensitive and expressive Romanticism entered the limelight, and after that, a veritable shitload of other -isms appeared. To give you a head-start, we’ll pick out one art movement as an example: Cubism. Founded by Georges Braques and Pablo Picasso, it was made possible by Fauvism, the dominant movement just before it. Why? Because Cubism is totally different from Fauvism. The paintings of Picasso are angular, controlled, mathematical even, whilst Fauvism is known for its frivolity, for its free use of bright, shiny colors and spontaneous brushstrokes, where all semblance of structure and order has left the building. So, remember: the art movement just before you is your enemy, and the one before that, your best friend. And yes, that’s a subtle hint so you can do some inspiration shopping. But I’m also not going to spell everything out for you, because history has already made (almost) everything up. Learn from it.

Het ‘Manifeste Dada”

Step 2: Write an extremely abstract manifesto.

Alright, now you’ve pinpointed what your specific art movement should be known for. This is important, because everybody else thinks that the “quality” of the art work is the most important. But we know better then that: the time has come to slowly spread the word and let the world know that you’re here. To state it in different words: write a manifesto where you put your arty ideals on paper. Construct vague sentences like “the artist is an exalted craftsman,” “we don’t acknowledge theory,” and “[art] erects inconsequential bayonets.” The reader, after all, doesn’t have to understand your manifesto, except for the fact that you make authentic art and your predecessors did not. Statements like “DADA remains within the framework of European weaknesses: it’s still shit, but from now on we want to shit in different colors so as to adorn the zoo of art with all the flags of all the consulates,” are ideal. FYI: this sentence comes from the pen of Tristan Tzara, who wrote the manifestos for Dadaism, under his alias Monsieur Antipyrine. Read and learn.

Oh, and one more tip: in your manifesto, just let out the true genius that lives inside of you. Dalí wrote in a biography that he still has memories from when he was inside his mother’s womb. Only true geniuses have those. When he went to kindergarten, he deliberately, every single time, fell off a ladder. A genius, truly.

Step 3: Collect your most ignorant friends.

An art movement never sprouts from just one individual; art movements travel in groups, so don’t come by yourself. Collect your most gullible friends and be sure that they wander around you, never criticize you, and follow you like flies to honey. Damien Hirst has his fame, thanks, in part, to the Young British Artists, and Picasso always had Braques besides him. Only van Gogh was alone, and we all know how that turned out. We see this phenomenon best in literature, where the Beat Generation is a perfect example: a young group of writers in the 50s, which included Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Neal Cassidy and William S. Burroughs, were fed up with the rise of consumer culture and were determined to live a free life, which they even more freely wrote down on paper. They wrote it down so freely that for a long time their literary craftsmanship was a big point of debate. If that sounds a bit de-motivating, that feeling can be solved by following the next step.

Step 4: Orchestrate the building of your own reputation.

Become friends with an art critic, or someone people trust. Hitchock did it with Truffaut. For a long, long time, the films of the British director were seen as easy entertainment and were placed in the lowbrow corner. Hitchock himself hadn’t too much credit either, as he, by the large majority of American critics, wasn’t seen as a serious artist. This all changed when Truffaut wrote an article about Hitchock in the influential Cahiers du Cinema, where he stated that the British director was in fact a unique artist. This, however, had little effect in the United States, but it all turned around when Truffaut, together with Hithcock, wrote a book about the director. American film critics slowly began to repeat their carefully chosen words, and his movies were upgraded to the ranks of high-culture. This is what Truffaut wrote in a letter to Hitchock in the Spring of 1962:

“And now to get to the point of this letter. During my conversations with the foreign press, and particularly in New York, I have noted that on the whole, there is too often a superficial approach to your achievements. On the other hand, the propaganda we initiated in the Cahiers du Cinema, while effective in France, carried no weight in America, because the arguments were over-intellectual.”

The book got published in 1967 in the United States, and Hitchock is now seen as one of the most influential directors of all time. Fun fact: his movies Vertigo (1958) and Rear Window (1954) are currently seen as the most artistic, whilst his aesthetic upgrade was established after the 60s.

Step 5: Ask people for money.

By now, you’ve obviously built up enormous stacks of cultural capital, but without money you are nowhere: it’s all about the money. Or, to put it in better words, the value that money represents: power and influence. And if you don’t like that, if you feel like your autonomy as an artist is paramount, and you prefer to end up a tormented artist who cuts off their nose (your ear is so 1888) skip to Step 7, Option 3. An artist without money is not much more than that: an artist. So turn up the faucet and get some backup in the form of financial sponsorship. The establishment of the Young Britsh Artists (and Damien Hirst) is strongly connected to the sponsorship of Charles Saatchi, an important art collector, and owner of the Saatchi Gallery. Also important: he swims in a pool of gold. Figuratively speaking, of course.

It’s even better if you have the financial support of the CIA. Modern art was cast aside until the CIA began using it as propaganda during the Cold War. They wanted to show that the United States was the promised land, where creativity, freedom, and art flourished. They therefore bought pieces from Jackson Pollock, Mark Rothko, and Willem de Kooning. So, find your backing at the Kremlin; call the Mosaad; or make an appointment at the AIVD (Dutch intelligence bureau).

Step 6: Wear black. Not sometimes. Not mostly. Always.

Nobody takes an artist seriously who—god forbid—wears a hip, opaque T-shirt. Stay in black clothing. Black is simply the most creative (non-)colour on earth. Polka dots hold a decent second place. Black polka dots are fine.

Step 7: Go mainstream, quit, or end it.

Congratulations! You’ve made it: your own made-up art movement. So, what comes next? There are now three paths that you can follow: 1.) Go mainstream, 2.) Quit completely or 3.) Die. Be aware: each step has its pros and cons.

Option 1: Go Damien Hirst! Hirst fabricates art like a factory on a treadmill, buys his own works so that they rise in value, and then sits in his Barcalounger waiting for the money to walk to him. But this is not without risk—art critics aren’t really cautious in their choice words about Hirst: “Damien Hirst isn’t an artist. His works…have no artistic content and are worthless as works of art. They are, therefore, worthless financially,” Julian Spalding wrote in The Independent in 2012. And even tough the art market is a bit slow (his works are still sold for millions), there’s a reasonable chance that you walk the reverse path of Hitchcock and will be remembered as an artist without any artistic value. The choice is up to you: do you want that? Do you?

Option 2: Go cold turkey. Quit and let the mystery do its job. This option also comes with some risks: nowadays, everything is fragmentary, and the next-big-thing can be forgotten in a split-second. You’re then, maybe, just a footnote in an art history book. Oblivion looms.

Option 3: Die. There sadly is nothing more intriguing then a suffering artist’s demise. Your work will increase in value, and your oeuvre is, per definition, done. Nobody will ever doubt you again. Sure, you had no idea that you would be this great! The only disadvantage is that you’re not around anymore to laugh at the situation. Ah, well, everything for the arts. Art for art’s sake. L’art pour l’art.

A version of this article originally appeared on The Creators Project Netherlands.

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