Dear M,
Artists are tormented souls - it is so decreed. And the torment is not romantic, the way it is portrayed in films. They don't gaze out at the sea or get drenched in the rain with a handsomely gloomy face until (soon) their dream comes true.
The real ones go crazy in the confines of their homes because they know they are trying their best, and for years they have been trying; if they are missing something, it is because there is no one to guide or direct them. They wander in the dark hoping that their hand would encounter something to show that they are on the right path - or at least to show where they are. Are they near the wall, or are they near a door? Are they at the edge of a bottomless well?
They look around themselves and wake up in the dark and ask themselves, What am I supposed to do? They try to keep themselves engaged so that the pain does not surface.
They read success stories and they throw the newspaper away. Now and then they are tempted to bang their heads against the wall. They look at others leading 'happy' lives - people next door who go to office, come home and attend to their children and go to bed - and wonder why they can't be just as normal.
They don't know if their story will have a happy ending. Or will it be a hard stop, the end? With nothing achieved except a few years of dreams?
Why would anyone want to have such a life, the life of an artist - The Mad Artist ? The only reason I can think of is that they don't know how unbelievable the struggle can get.
They? We. Me. I.
Love.
Artists are tormented souls - it is so decreed. And the torment is not romantic, the way it is portrayed in films. They don't gaze out at the sea or get drenched in the rain with a handsomely gloomy face until (soon) their dream comes true.
The real ones go crazy in the confines of their homes because they know they are trying their best, and for years they have been trying; if they are missing something, it is because there is no one to guide or direct them. They wander in the dark hoping that their hand would encounter something to show that they are on the right path - or at least to show where they are. Are they near the wall, or are they near a door? Are they at the edge of a bottomless well?
They look around themselves and wake up in the dark and ask themselves, What am I supposed to do? They try to keep themselves engaged so that the pain does not surface.
They read success stories and they throw the newspaper away. Now and then they are tempted to bang their heads against the wall. They look at others leading 'happy' lives - people next door who go to office, come home and attend to their children and go to bed - and wonder why they can't be just as normal.
They don't know if their story will have a happy ending. Or will it be a hard stop, the end? With nothing achieved except a few years of dreams?
Why would anyone want to have such a life, the life of an artist - The Mad Artist ? The only reason I can think of is that they don't know how unbelievable the struggle can get.
They? We. Me. I.
Love.
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