Artist Q. is having a major self pity fest on Facebook; today he/she waits, as do I, for lighting to strike and give the ‘big Break’ which rarely if never comes. Eggs were all in one basket for the imagined future. Imagining the future is always a mistake. Plus I suspect another no talent. Not enough self perspective to have the rigor necessary to make good work. For this artist, the art, is a salvation from psychic pain. A worthy enough goal to be freed from pain, but I dont think art making particularly therapeutic. Just scratches some itch that is likely just the need to work; aligns the inborn threads of body and mind into something useful. Like sex or a bowel movement. It (art making) like most of life’s activities cannot fill that giant hole inside. God can but often chooses for us to suffer its emptiness until we find a way outside ourselves and see our pain as part of the larger fall that afflicts all. Through this ‘gifting’ then maybe, some freedom, from pain (or caring I am not entirely sure which) is attained by giving ‘the self,’ away. So how’s that for pretentious bull shit of the day?

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Sketch by Martha Lindenborg Vaught