Saturday, May 15, 2010
I am not a 'nice' person. It used to bother me that I wasn't. I used to worry about what people thought of me. I pretended to be friendly, easy-going, nurturing and kind. It was unconvincing so I stopped.I have few user-friendly attributes. I am aloof, self-centred, intolerant, demanding, uncharitable, moody, impatient, irritable, and unyielding. I am not good at small talk and team-work. I'm a difficult friend. I'm amoral, ambitious and vain. I'm rarely satisfied with my lot.I can be a careless and inattentive friend – for that, I'm sorry – as well a selfish lover. I rarely love myself. I'm estranged from my parents, brother and most of my old friends and I'm spiteful towards my enemies (it doesn't take much to become one). I don't forgive. I'm often mad, in every nuance of its meaning. A lack of rationality isolates me. If I wasn't an artist, I'd have a hard time holding down even the most menial job. My art doesn't make me 'whole' either. I am rigorous and uncompromising in every aspect of it. I leave no margin for error. I drive myself to the edge of exhaustion to fill every hour with its making and marketing. Like a monk-ish ascetic, I labour on my feet as a penance (or a facile expression of sacrifice) – it takes endurance – but there's no satori at the end of it. My talent doesn't excuse any of this. Neither does my success. The only thing worthwhile is that I don't waste either of them. Talent doesn't often bring happiness and a deeper understanding of the world to its possessor but it can create both for others. Which is to say, I am not a 'nice' person but I redeem myself when the potential of my talent is fulfilled.