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I attended an art exhibition hosted by a friend, featuring another friend’s work. Before the event, I visited the artist, played with her cat, and helped hammer a few nails into her artwork. Afterward, I assisted the curator in removing nails from the exhibition boards.
I really enjoy this kind of hands-on involvement, as I’m deeply curious about the behind-the-scenes—how things are actually accomplished. Even small tasks offer a window into the immersive process of creation.
This exhibition stood apart from traditional galleries, being truly community-oriented.
The artists found by the curator are all very young artists. They have very straightforward or rough expressions, which are unique to this age and this stage of creation.
Even the venue is quite interesting, and the activities they usually undertake are of various themes.
After the exhibition, the lessee needs to fill the nail holes on the exhibition board with putty. Everything is done by yourself as much as possible, so the price is not expensive.
Perhaps one rule is that the cultural industry really needs a large number of cheap venues and supporting facilities to conduct experiments.
At the exhibition, I was talking to a friend about the local comedy club. He said that occasionally there would be actors with a net worth of hundreds of millions to speak in the basement of the bar for an open mic with a ticket price of two or three pounds.
I also talked to another dancing girl about a dance company in Manchester, which has been providing free workshops and free rehearsal space and commercialization platform for early artists.
There must be a small but complete place for artists and creators to try out all their ideas and receive all the feedback.
When it comes to lean entrepreneurship, it is natural to bring in commercial companies. In fact, cultural creation may need the logic of lean entrepreneurship more than any other industry.
A five-minute talk show is polished in a theater for a month, and a one-hour special show can be produced in a year.
A hundred art exhibitions with audiences and feedback may produce a few artists who are better at expression and communication.
It is a great thing to grow flowers, and it is also a great thing to cultivate soil.
Visiting Liverpool Cathedral, I encountered a guide who shared so much valuable insight, which helped me understand Christianity in a way I hadn’t before.
In the past, I participated in Christian activities back home, but I always found it difficult to grasp the rationale behind faith. However, through this cathedral, it became much easier to comprehend.
The cathedral truly serves as the heart of the city, preserving its history and connecting the community.
Liverpool is primarily known for its identity as a “port city” and its significance in both World Wars, and these city characteristics are deeply embedded in this cathedral.
In the 1920s, the cathedral compiled a record of every soldier from Liverpool who died in World War I, with over 40,000 names and related details. The entire archive is displayed in a glass case, and the cathedral flips a page every few days—taking many years to complete the cycle.
Wealthy locals contributed directly by donating stained-glass windows, and beneath each window is the name of the donor (I even saw that the captain of the Titanic had donated one).
The guide explained it as a form of competition among the wealthy elite to donate, and I thought of it as similar to the modern “fan voting” phenomenon, where people compete for the top spot.
Many sculptures inside the cathedral are unconventional, featuring sailors, naval officers, the air force, and dockworkers.
There is even a spotlight on a Titanic-related sculpture.
In sum, the cathedral is an incredibly direct community project. It is a religious, political, and cultural project all rolled into one.
The cathedral was constructed from 1904 and completed in 1978, enduring two world wars, with generations of people raising funds to bring it to life. It is the largest cathedral in Europe, and had the public not recognized its value over time, the project would have failed.
In some ways, it represents the “Good Old Times,” a period with less division and a shared sense of honor. It’s hard to imagine any organization today raising such large sums of money for a similar project (it’s said to have cost nearly 1 million pounds at the time, which would be equivalent to about 200 million pounds today).
Additionally, the guide shared something rather amusing: the cathedral removed all traces of Judas. His figure was left out of sculptures, and his image was excluded from paintings.
He said he didn’t understand why, as those stories no longer make sense today. I replied that I understood now—this was essentially an early form of cancel culture.
It made me reflect on how, compared to that era, we now have much more powerful tools to enforce “narrow-mindedness and hatred” on a larger, more complete, and ruthless scale. In comparison to their time, we modern people have far less leeway to make mistakes, and the space for forgiveness has greatly diminished.
Attending this comic convention in the UK has left me very optimistic about the global growth of the Japanese and Korean anime industry over the next decade.
One clear indicator of this trend is the age distribution of cosplayers here. Those cosplaying classic Western IPs are mostly over 30, while those cosplaying Japanese IPs—Dragon Ball being an exception—are primarily Gen Z.
I have to say, Western creators are truly lacking in creativity and quality when it comes to merchandise. It’s shocking how bad it is! The standard offerings are limited to keychains, metal pins, T-shirts, and posters—some of which I’m almost certain are pirated, yet the organizers don’t seem to care.
The prices are outrageously high. A plastic kunai from Naruto sells for £10, but its quality is so poor that no one would pay 10 yuan for it in China.
POP figures are priced at 3–5 times what you’d find on Taobao, so many individual sellers here are flipping official and limited-edition merch for profit.
This whole merchandise market feels like it’s stuck in the last century, completely undeveloped.
As I walked around, a puzzling question kept coming to mind: What have the brilliant creators of recent years been up to?
Looking at this convention, there hasn’t been much in the way of significant global hits in the past decade.
The two most popular guests at the event were Sebastian Stan, who rose to fame 10 years ago through Marvel, and Ralph Fiennes, who gained recognition for this group of audience 20 years ago with Harry Potter.
The most represented fandoms are still Star Trek, with multiple stalls selling lightsabers, and Harry Potter. On the manga side, the most recent standout work is Demon Slayer.
As for Western hits, the newest mentions are Stranger Things and Fleabag or Sherlock, and those came out 7–10 years ago.
Even the music on the main stage included Christina Aguilera.
So, what’s going on here?
Are talented creators unwilling to have their IPs exploited by big corporations, so they just opt out of mainstream projects,?
Or has the abundance of options diluted attention, making it harder for anything to achieve a breakout hit?
Perhaps the film and TV industries have sped up their content pipelines too much, burning through commercial value too quickly?
Or is the economy so bad that people are too exhausted from daily news and arguments to invest energy in cultural consumption?
It’s bizarre that in an entire decade, there hasn’t been a truly influential global masterpiece. It’s even more surreal that kids 10–20 years younger than me are still shipping the same CPs as I did.
Anyway, I have a feeling that when the next big phenomenon does come, it’s going to devour all the pent-up attention from this empty decade. I’m looking forward to it!
On October 25, singer Lily Allen posted several close-up photos of her feet on X, along with a link to her OnlyFans page, which caught the attention of many netizens.
One commenter remarked, “Imagine being one of the biggest pop stars/musicians in Europe and then being reduced to this.”
Lily Allen responded, “Imagine being an artist with nearly 8 million monthly listeners on Spotify but earning more money from having 1,000 people subscribe to pictures of your feet. Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”
It’s no surprise that this discussion once again turned to Spotify, with a comment receiving over 600 likes stating, “I think this says more about @Spotify and what they pay than anything else.”
This incident sparked my great interest because during a class on Creative Market, while discussing the biggest challenges facing the creative industry today, I jokingly mentioned that it seems OnlyFans is currently the only platform enabling artists to earn reasonable compensation directly from consumers.
When we talked about Spotify in class, my biggest question was: Why has it been losing money for over a decade despite having such a large user base, a strong cultural identity, and significant influence?
Then this news conveniently emerged.
I took a moment to look up some relevant data on Spotify and OnlyFans.
Last year, only 66,000 artists earned $10,000 or more in royalties from Spotify streaming, while the number of creators on the platform has long surpassed 11 million. In contrast, based on Lily Allen’s subscription numbers on OnlyFans, she can earn a stable $10,000 monthly with just 1,000 subscribers—an amount that most musicians would take a year to earn through streaming royalties.
According toOnlyFans’ 2023 financial report, the platform shares a significant portion of its revenue with creators—up to 80%—which far exceeds what a performer might earnworking for a production company or agency. (OnlyFans’ 80% revenue share is feasible only because it does not offer App Store-based billing, which would take 15-30% off the top.)
In simple terms, the essence of the Lily Allen incident is that “a new value distribution mechanism is set to replace the old one.”
A few weeks ago, I was watching Spotify’s Netflix show, Playlist, and after finishing it, I felt that the issue of “exploiting artists,” which has been widely criticized, is essentially unsolvable for Spotify. With 70% of its revenue going to pay for royalties, the responsibility for secondary distribution still lies with the copyright companies, leaving the platform with limited options.
From this incident, it’s clear that the solution is for artists to seek opportunities elsewhere; if they can thrive in other venues, they can afford to walk away from this one.
At its core, the old “record company-centered value chain” needs to die. The previously valuable rights to music have depreciated sharply due to technological advancements and a vast array of choices. Meanwhile, the role of record companies, which previously discovered, packaged, and promoted artists, has diminished significantly as the internet has drastically shortened the distance between consumers and artists. This is a given; the value chain in this industry has long needed a reset.
Spotify should have been the last hope for these record companies, yet it has acted as an intermediary, propping up this outdated value chain for over a decade. However, like all beneficiaries of the status quo, record companies cling tightly to their existing profits.
Now that OnlyFans has emerged and with future advancements in blockchain technology, the redistribution of interests is merely a matter of time. As creators receive less from record companies, those companies will become increasingly irrelevant. After all, who can’t release music on TikTok or OnlyFans nowadays?
In class, I even discussed with the professor why Spotify continues to lose money. He expressed his belief that Spotify would eventually become profitable. I’m now not so sure; opportunity windows are undoubtedly among the most fleeting elements in the business world. Once an alternative system is fully in place, Spotify’s window of opportunity will likely close.
