The Artist's Woe

The Trouble with Artists.

“No Great Mind exists
Without a touch of Madness.”
{Aristotle}

The hand of Perfection
Works through the lost heart
Of the artist.

None can create beautiful art
Without knowing horrible ugliness

None can create perfect art
Without knowing perfect hell

None can create a Masterpiece
Without first knowing slavery

None can create with such awe and love
As to last generations in our heart
Without knowing a life of stifled apathy
Hatred, betrayal and isolation.

We see the Master Works throughout history
And their shining examples of craftsmanship
Glorious temples arrayed in splendor
Lifelike sculptures
Picturesque painted canvas
Music that would cause a warrior to cry

Wars have been fought for art
Peace has been bought with art
Love has been secured with art
Movements have burned it all down
And life endures through the keeping of it.

But it is no small thing for those who do craft

The pursuit of perfection
Is driven by the engine
Of man’s destruction

Who would ever tinker to master the brush
perfectly
Without madness as their taskmaster?

Who would chisel endlessly at hardened stone
Perfectly
Without desperation as their whip?

Who would go days without sleep
To express that perfect melody
Lasting hundreds of years
Unless it be vital replacement
Of love lost to the soul?

The need for perfection
And self acceptance of ones work
On the level of Master Artist
Is in direct proportion
To the lack of acceptance
And love in the life of that child.

And all the days of their life
Do they tirelessly pursue the dream
Of knowing love
By creating something
With indisputable talent
Showing us what love can be

Yes we gaze in wonder at the life
Of these gifted men and women
But how many of us stop to realize
The price they paid
In order to HAVE to create it?

Those great minds knew none like themselves
And wondered the earth aimlessly perplexed
At mankind surrounding them.

They lived isolated and alone within their own souls
They dreamed what no other would dare
They hoped what all others would fear
And they never gave up until they could find
Balance to the lack in their heart
And the lack in the world around them

Indeed the prowess of their works
Exposes the powerlessness of their life.

And how many also suffered
Trying to love the artist
Who did not know how to love themselves?

So when you happen upon a stunning piece of art
Taken aback
Moved
Paused to stop and wonder at such great talent
Keep also in mind
That great sacrifice they made
And Made also by those who loved them.

We say they are Great
Yet how often did they wish
To simply be one of our brethren?

Ryan o0o