Made Angelic

Posted: June 19, 2013 in Uncategorized

Sunlight is the enemy of the artist, not because he must stay indoors and brood, or because he intends to sleep until the afternoon, but because in those rare and beautiful streaks, those hours spent forcing creation at a fevered pace without requirements for rest or breaks or distractions, those miraculous moments when everything comes together, the rising of the sun is like a car alarm. A bright light that, when first noticed, sends everything to a grinding halt, to notate the passing of time and plant that ugliest of thoughts in the mind: “I suppose I should go to sleep now.” It is a falsehood, a suggestion presented by the masses who, in lieu of having anything personal and emotional to contribute to society, simply serve as parts of a machine that operates during specific hours deemed most convenient for the populace at large. For the artist, these hours have no meaning. He has no requirement to cash checks at the bank, to buy stamps at a postal office, to window shop at the local mall by his lonesome. His obligation is merely to create and to share, and while the latter may need to be shoehorned into the schedules of the otherwise occupied, the former ought not have concern for any other living creature.

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