The curse of the artist

Conversation with myself

“I’m an artist, I am never really here.”
“So where are you then?”
“Constantly outside of it, right next to everything, witnessing it. In a picture of a laughing crowd, where do you think the artist is? A few steps away, taking the picture.”
“So you do actually want to be with them, in the centre of all things, laughing with the crowd.”
“Why would I want that?”
“How could you not want that, when you’re the one who sees everything as so beautiful?”
“I suppose. The curse of the artist. That by the sight of beauty being torn between participating in it and taking a step back to be able to correctly document it.”

 

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