Does the Artist in your life hate you?

They may, but for your sake and mine, I hope not. Do you ask them to make you something, and tell them how? When you order food from the restaurant, do you ever let the artist who is sharpening knives back there surprise you? Is your life so fixed on exactly what would please you, that you miss the chance of luck, and taste in the mediocrity of planning forever? Have you forgiven them for being early…or god forbid, late?

I read somewhere that, “a true friend only get’s in your way, when your on your way down”, or something like that. Anyways, is this artist who might secretly hate you, wearing a watch? This could be a bad sign if the kid doesn’t play pool. Only time will tell right? When was the last time you burnt a steak, and dryly ate it to celebrate your failure?

I miss the ring on my wrist that tells me I fit in with a certain crowd. They run around when the night becomes day in the halls of the devil’s playground. Some of them are certainly sociopath, appearing as miscreants with no conscience. No con science? I believe too much in the power of honesty I guess. I miss the liars out of hope for the truth.

I like to believe that they make up the minority, and that they’re attracted to people like them. Well, having met a player with the name of “Murderer”, and been convinced by his arrogant brilliance in conversation, that he had studied too much math, I’m wary of the people who poke balls with sticks.

They tell me to talk to a girl but they won’t tell me her name, and the fact that she strips for money, strips it away from our relating. I wonder what she does when she’s not spinning in the air for money. Might she be financing an improvement of herself in the best way she can? I’ll never know, but I’ve seen that form of art a couple of times, and it was beautifully tragic.

I’m disgusted and repulsed by the disrespect, while wishing it could feel different for me, as I want to leave. I don’t though as she’s smiling and playing with another boy, who could probably make more money than her doing the same thing. He was handsome and smiling, so I put money in the jukebox, and got his attention. I was there to play, not fight happiness, so I gave him the pick of the tunes, racked up, and shot well.

Micro management is telling someone what to do, and then adding how. Macro management is telling someone what to do, and disappearing for eight months while they wait for permission to finish it how they hope to. The balance of this lies in giving a what, and teaching a how if they need it. Giving a how, and skipping the what. Sharing a what, and waiting around to see if the how they come up with, can possibly be good enough…to satisfy the needs of what.

There is joy found in the witnessing of an artistic pursuit. Have you ever told someone how to dance? How about told someone they should dance at all? Was there music? How about gun smoke? Did the artist dance, or sit there with smoldering eyes which burnt into your memory? It’s a sensitive dynamic. Their lives are wrapped in the scorns of the unfit, unpracticed, uncaring, and whimsical judgements of a hurried time.

They are the patient. They care enough to fail for years in a glorious celebration of hope to make. Can you see the patina on their cheeks? They are embarrassed for lack of a better word to describe it in my practice. You should be able to relate, but in shame maybe, you pretend not to.

She’s called crazy for wanting to die in starvation, rather than let go of a dream. Is she really crazy then, or addicted to a higher hope? Does her pursuit of an immaterial passion, a love for something she can recognize as greatness in herself, is that why you hate her?

Should he hate you for the feelings you cannot hide, while stomping on the ones he shared out of love for you? Did you see his tears? Where has he been for all these years? Did you think he was lazy, because he didn’t believe in himself? Was he distracted from his purpose by the need to survive, and each time he returned to it, had to start from ten steps back?

We are all artists in my mind. We make. We hope to make better. We strive in dedicated pursuit of an efficient mastered finish. Some of us have talent, some of us have to build it, and some of us don’t dare to. Which one are you? I feel all three in me. Let them be……an artistic spill of will….in a forever unfilled till of skill.