It is the artist and not the subject that art really mirrors
Sometimes I feel like I'm under-qualified to comment on the beauty or greatness of things. Is that stupid? I know that generally really great artists hate what they do, because your your own worst critic but also because if you were to be able to appreciate it the way someone whose never seen it before you'd lose whatever it was that made it in the first place. So I'd like to apply that to just stuff generally and say that maybe I can appreciate stuff, and trust my own opinions. Maybe I'll look back at this period in my life and think that I was flying high when really i just feel a but normal, now things are more settled. Change is the only thing that makes me feel truly happy, or specifically significant positive change. Then I wonder if there's a limit and think about how big the drop would be. So, it's good to feel sad sometimes. It's good to have good and bad stuff that happens to you, because otherwise, we'd be lost and wouldn't even know why....just that the chart has gone all wobbly and we got stuck at the bottom.
Anyway in light of this I will apply it to my writing (?). Every now and then I decide to write a poem and a short one comes out which I think hit's the mark, and i keep it stored somewhere, until i look back and it and decide that it's shit and to start all over again. I think next time i will probably keep it, and write another one immediately afterwards, a trivial one, and no one will see them but me but it wont matter because that was the point. And I'll die undiscovered until a lovely little maid called Elgar finds them hidden underneath a dusty bookcase and has them published with a picture of herself in black and white on the front.
Just read this entry a year later, NOOO Idea what I was on about.
Anyway in light of this I will apply it to my writing (?). Every now and then I decide to write a poem and a short one comes out which I think hit's the mark, and i keep it stored somewhere, until i look back and it and decide that it's shit and to start all over again. I think next time i will probably keep it, and write another one immediately afterwards, a trivial one, and no one will see them but me but it wont matter because that was the point. And I'll die undiscovered until a lovely little maid called Elgar finds them hidden underneath a dusty bookcase and has them published with a picture of herself in black and white on the front.
Just read this entry a year later, NOOO Idea what I was on about.