Being an artist isn’t a genetic disposition or a specific talent. It’s an attitude we can all adopt. It’s a hunger to seize new ground, make connections, and work without a map. If you do those things, you’re an artist.
She who is a dancer can only sway the silk of her hair like the summer breeze.
Only after a writer lets literature shape her can she perhaps shape literature. In working-class France, when an apprentice got hurt, or when he got tired, the experienced workers said, “It is the trade entering his body.” The art must enter the body, too.
I have one regret. I took too damned long…
She pours sugar on her life
and drinks the artist’s marrow
in the bone of her glass and she lives.
Be a worthy worker and work will come.
Literature will save me it’s the only certainty i am sure of.
But an artist, he realized. Or rather so-called artist. Bohemian. That’s closer to it. The artistic life without the talent.
Like a Rubik’s cube, I have many configurations; Do not assume you have “figured” me out just because you’ve seen one side.