My daughter celebrated her sixth birthday yesterday. She is a very sophisticated kindergartener, wise beyond her years. She has an active imagination and loves to draw pictures of her family, her toys and everything else she sees. Her production levels challenge the "starving artists" who ply their wares in suburban Holiday Inn conference rooms; if I were inclined, I could paper my entire office with her masterpieces.
What my daughter does with her crayolas and construction paper seems innate - she must create. I understand the urge; the rationale of the blogosphere is that people feel the need to create, to communicate, to share their world and worldview with others. One of the frustrations for those with creative impulses is that they are often ignored or even scorned. The most guilty group in this regard are the educated elites, those who "deconstruct" text and images, superimposing semiotics and other arcane theoretical constructs over the words and images. The process allows the elites to commandeer the meaning and the message of artists and writers.
This is the world my daughter is entering right now. She insists that she is an artist and plans to be an artist when she grows up, although that would mean ending her current career as the fourth Powerpuff Girl (she's apparently the Pete Best of this group). As she learns and grows, she will find that the world attempts to channel creative impulses. My hope is that she will have the opportunity to create as she sees fit. But I fear that she will not.