Entertainment is Art
An inner reflection on my worth, sparked by Art Club & Substack
Just last night at Art Club, surrounded by paint-streaked palettes and the hum of quiet focus, I felt like an impostor. My canvas was stubborn, my brush unsure. The masterpiece I hoped to summon refused to materialize. Everyone around me seemed to speak fluent “art,” while I rambled incoherently about past accomplishments.
I left wondering if I truly belonged.
Then this morning, while perusing Substack, I stumbled upon a post by
that asked a version of a question I'd been circling in my own head: Are entertainers artists?It hit a nerve in the best way.
Not just because it’s a good question, but because I’d had my version of that conversation recently, though it wasn’t a debate or a dialogue. It happened quietly, behind my camera, while photographing members of the Over the Moon art studio collective I’d just joined.
But that question, the one from the post, snuck in like a gentle nudge from the universe. *Maybe art isn’t just on the canvas. Maybe it’s also in the punchline that makes someone exhale the day. Maybe it’s in a song that cracks open a memory. Maybe it’s in the way someone holds an audience, even for a moment, and says—Come with me.
I don’t always wield a brush, but I do wield timing, tone, and light. I compose with my lens, with focus and light. That’s why I offered a free shoot to the members (and their friends) of the Over the Moon Art Studio. It was my way of introducing myself to the art community in Asbury Park, my new home
I’ve learned the camera is a more honest introduction. It lets me say: This is how I see. This is how I connect. And honestly, it’s a better way to get to know me, too, because without a lens in hand, I tend to ramble. About my latest trip. My kid. Something vaguely political that may or may not land the way I meant it to.
My camera is my buffer. It gives me just enough distance to see you, and just enough structure to let you see me.
Whenever I photograph someone new, I always ask: “What do you do?” It’s my opening line—not because I’m chasing job titles or accolades, but because the answer usually reveals how someone sees themselves.
Jason said he’s a comedian
Mar said she’s a singer-songwriter.
And I hadn’t seen either of them perform. I still haven’t. But somehow, I could already feel the shape of their art.
Jason had presence as if he were listening to the room, even in silence.
Mar rested against the piano like it was a familiar part of her body.
They didn’t need a spotlight to express something—it was already there, in their posture, their ease, and their gaze.
Which brought me back to Andy’s question as well as my own.
Who is an artist?
Anyone who creates a diversion, a memory, or a spark of inspiration is an artist.
Even me—a photographer.
I capture light, emotion, and connection.
I create space for people to see themselves—and be seen.
That’s art, too.