I was talking to an artist yesterday and she said she could only
make art out of the anguish of her soul and couldn’t bear the burden of
it. Why, I thought, is the ability to
artistically make sense of anguish a burden?
Better the soul whose anguish is born artistically than the wretch who
carries it in the dark of their faith in their soul. All art is borne out of the intensity of the
personal human experience, at times anguish but at others ecstasy. All other works are at best decoration with
no purpose other than to match a couch.
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