The Art of Obsession By Kiki Pape

Martin Scorsese once said that the true goal of storytelling is to make the audience care about your obsessions. What’s fascinating about admiring role models is that we often only glimpse the surface—we rarely see the depth of their struggles or the sacrifices they made for their art. When their journeys are shared, the hardships are often skimmed over, even though it’s in those toughest moments that the greatest inspiration is born. So why is it that we tend to “glow” when recounting the good parts, but dim the light on the pain that shaped us most?

I wasn’t always a fan of Taylor Swift—in fact, there was a time when I pretended to “hate” her. Looking back, I realize that what I was really feeling was jealousy: jealousy that people cared so deeply about her work while my own hours of struggle went unnoticed. No one knows my name, yet I compared myself to Taylor Swift, one of the most recognizable artists in the world.

I think back to my classrooms at the University of Colorado Boulder, where I first became captivated by the lyrical brilliance of Wordsworth and Dickinson. Once you fall into their words, you begin to understand why creating art is such a difficult path—especially when it comes to making a living from it.

What I admire in artists like Taylor Swift, and in legends across time, is their ability to make people care about their obsessions. They recognize when the music—and the culture—is shifting, and they know which words will carry meaning. They sense what’s “cool” before it becomes so, and they carve out their own path.Maybe that’s the lesson: putting yourself out there, but also listening. It’s in balancing both that your art finds its strongest voice. 

Does obsession outweigh the need to make money? I’m not sure. We need art to live—to feel, to connect, to make sense of the world—but so often, the world doesn’t recognize its value.