Blind Goldsmiths hate silver just as much as their wives hate gold. It must be a tragedy when you happen to lose the key to your craft, and this has to be the most painful of all deaths artists can call upon themselves.
Talking about art, it can’t be understood as anything less than sorcery. You take abstracts, spin them into a few harsh truths, pour magical lies onto this intricate weave and gift it to a lone bystander in the name of beauty.
And, if that isn’t enough for you to feel the power of your craft, then you may sometimes choose to strangle a demon and then put that dead beast on a proud display.
Who said artists were kind?
Kindness, if we please, can be seen as a lost virtue to humanity. The human world gave away its tenderness as a sacrifice against all things glitter and gold. Subsequently, humanity, now, is all about the hypnotic chase; a chase for the amber drenched evening horizon; a chase against time.
Humans, lately, haven’t been acting like the wise animals they are known to be. We are still clinging onto the older, softer and prettier idea of humanity. The one that was about smiles and love.
It will only prove to be of help if we look right into the eyes of reality and face it.
Humanity, now, is the virtue of hunters; it’s about all things sharp and threatening. The sooner we realize this, the better!