The Plight of the Artist
The plight of the artist is trying to decide whether our work is great or terrible. For me, it can’t be in the middle. My written works and all that I have done are glimmering towers of beauty and truth, or they are nothing; A mirage of something clouded in all the too generous praise and pride of my youth and then paralyzed by this thought.
Being idle is comforting, safe, and upsetting, but I know, I don’t feel, but I know it’s not a decision to be made at all. Certainly not by me. If I decide I’m great, my skills will stagnate and I will die a proud fool. If I decide not to give anything, I will never create again. Both decisions in reality are decisions against myself; against hope.
I must ignore, repel — kill and never give in to these feelings. And I will continue; moving forward.
