more thoughts on being and/or not being an artist:

My friend Bob responded to my last post where I begged the question: what deems someone an artist?

I find his answer holds quite a bit of merit, not only for myself but also as I consider its relevance in the lives of some of my closest friends.

I suspect one is an artist because one can find no other way to articulate who one is inwardly. If one can find another way, one should, because the life of an artist sucks. (And is unspeakably full of wonder.) I'm pretty sure at a certain point in life (adolescence, probably) one has become an artist-type whether one likes it or not. You can no longer just work in a bank. You are cursed / blessed, because something happened to you back when - something you probably can't even put a finger on - and it was probably something sad, based on a deeply sensitive kid being disappointed. When you're a kid the stories they tell paint the world as it should be - not as it is - which hurts to discover. But then, somehow, mysteriously, you learn to believe.

It seems to reinforce my idea that the most cynical people I know are also the most hopeful. I never realized until now that the most cynical people I know are, in fact, some of the most creative people I know. There is a lot of correlation to be considered, though I wouldn't rely on any of it being factual.

Perhaps this is where we come up with words like "tortured" to describe artists.

It's the internal cycle of insecurity and perceived worthlessness with something inside that won't die and is often only capable of saying one thing, in whatever way it can manifest itself: "I can't quit. I can't quit. I can't quit."