It's true. Look at almost any great artist. Hang around with great artists. You'll realize they are mostly all arrogant snobs.
There are the few exceptions, of course. I've met a great many an artist who is far from any even hint of arrogance; while they're exceptional artists, I think it is doubtful too many of them will ever be famous. I suppose I'm referring to the great artists. Many of the great artists are well known for being egotistical jerks. And those who are not egotistical jerks, hung and hang around with egotistical jerks, making them egotistical jerks by association.
Salvador Dali, Pablo Picasso, Paul Gauguin, Diego Rivera... even Michelangelo... fantastic egos.
Many excuse artists for it.
"Who can understand such genius?" They ask.
It's not that I have a problem with egos. I wish I had one, a fantastic ego, that is. My ego is small. It lives in a box with many shiny objects. It keeps to itself and runs on a hamster wheel every once in a while just to keep busy. It hides when others come to pick it up and play with it. They want to see what tricks my poor little ego can do. But all that poor little ego wants to do is hide in the corner of the box, buried under wood shavings and sleep, pretending that no one can see it. It doesn't want to be an arrogant jerk. It doesn't want to be noticed even. It bites the hand that's holding it and runs away.
Oh these woodchips are so safe. No one will find my little ego here.
Little Ego, don't you want to come out?
No.
Not even for a little bit?
No.
We could paint a little while... you could show people how good you are at it.
No. No I'm not.
But you are! Honestly, you are. I promise you are.
No. No, I'm not. I don't want to come out. I don't like people looking at me. I don't want to be noticed.
But you do want people to notice how good you are, don't you?
Yes. Well, maybe. No.
But how will people know?
They'll find me.
No they won't, Little Ego. They don't know where to look for you if all you're going to do is hide under woodchips all day.
If they want me, they'll look for me.
And they leave because they're tired of trying to negotiate with someone who won't listen.
I wish, my friends, that this was far from the truth, but I don't think it is. I guess everyone is a little like this sometimes. We want people to notice us but we don't want to have to go out of our way to have people notice us. But me? I like to sabotage myself. Even when people DO notice me, I still try and make myself as small as possible, shivering in my little box, scared to death someone will try and make me come out.
I'm not a recluse; I just can't stand the rejection.
I am terribly insecure. I don't think I'm a very good artist. I don't think I'm a very good anything. It's crippling. It's like someone has taken a baseball bat and clubbed both my knees. It's very difficult to deal, I understand, with people who are so full of self-loathing. Van Gogh... Freida Khalo... self-loathers.... difficult people. No one wants to be around someone who doesn't even want to be around themselves.
It might have started on the playground, when some "well wisher" chose to inform me that I was not the most unpopular girl in school anymore at there was someone who was more unpopular than I. It might have started when that kid Dominic Whatshisname could always draw better guns than I and I lost a contest on who could draw a better science fiction based guns. What I hadn't grasped at the time was the power of shading.
But anyway, these insecurities still feed me, like an evil wife only after my life insurance policy, slowly feeding me arsenic so that it looks like I just have terrible stomach cramps until one day it ends in my foaming at the mouth in agony as my internal organs shut down. Who knew insecurity could be so malicious? It looks so docile in the store window. Who would have known the kitten to have claws?
I want to be free of my insecurities. I want my little ego to grow up big and strong and become a large insufferable ego. I want my ego to be so loud and obnoxious, everyone will want to hang around with me to perhaps glean some gold from my shimmering. My desire to be this is greater than my fear of becoming a self-absorbed brat as most artists are, needing an entourage of those less talented at self-absorption to tell them how absolutely wonderful and beautiful and talented they are at everything.
That's how artists are, you know. They are so full of themselves.
There are the few exceptions, of course. I've met a great many an artist who is far from any even hint of arrogance; while they're exceptional artists, I think it is doubtful too many of them will ever be famous. I suppose I'm referring to the great artists. Many of the great artists are well known for being egotistical jerks. And those who are not egotistical jerks, hung and hang around with egotistical jerks, making them egotistical jerks by association.
Salvador Dali, Pablo Picasso, Paul Gauguin, Diego Rivera... even Michelangelo... fantastic egos.
Many excuse artists for it.
"Who can understand such genius?" They ask.
It's not that I have a problem with egos. I wish I had one, a fantastic ego, that is. My ego is small. It lives in a box with many shiny objects. It keeps to itself and runs on a hamster wheel every once in a while just to keep busy. It hides when others come to pick it up and play with it. They want to see what tricks my poor little ego can do. But all that poor little ego wants to do is hide in the corner of the box, buried under wood shavings and sleep, pretending that no one can see it. It doesn't want to be an arrogant jerk. It doesn't want to be noticed even. It bites the hand that's holding it and runs away.
Oh these woodchips are so safe. No one will find my little ego here.
Little Ego, don't you want to come out?
No.
Not even for a little bit?
No.
We could paint a little while... you could show people how good you are at it.
No. No I'm not.
But you are! Honestly, you are. I promise you are.
No. No, I'm not. I don't want to come out. I don't like people looking at me. I don't want to be noticed.
But you do want people to notice how good you are, don't you?
Yes. Well, maybe. No.
But how will people know?
They'll find me.
No they won't, Little Ego. They don't know where to look for you if all you're going to do is hide under woodchips all day.
If they want me, they'll look for me.
And they leave because they're tired of trying to negotiate with someone who won't listen.
I wish, my friends, that this was far from the truth, but I don't think it is. I guess everyone is a little like this sometimes. We want people to notice us but we don't want to have to go out of our way to have people notice us. But me? I like to sabotage myself. Even when people DO notice me, I still try and make myself as small as possible, shivering in my little box, scared to death someone will try and make me come out.
I'm not a recluse; I just can't stand the rejection.
I am terribly insecure. I don't think I'm a very good artist. I don't think I'm a very good anything. It's crippling. It's like someone has taken a baseball bat and clubbed both my knees. It's very difficult to deal, I understand, with people who are so full of self-loathing. Van Gogh... Freida Khalo... self-loathers.... difficult people. No one wants to be around someone who doesn't even want to be around themselves.
It might have started on the playground, when some "well wisher" chose to inform me that I was not the most unpopular girl in school anymore at there was someone who was more unpopular than I. It might have started when that kid Dominic Whatshisname could always draw better guns than I and I lost a contest on who could draw a better science fiction based guns. What I hadn't grasped at the time was the power of shading.
But anyway, these insecurities still feed me, like an evil wife only after my life insurance policy, slowly feeding me arsenic so that it looks like I just have terrible stomach cramps until one day it ends in my foaming at the mouth in agony as my internal organs shut down. Who knew insecurity could be so malicious? It looks so docile in the store window. Who would have known the kitten to have claws?
I want to be free of my insecurities. I want my little ego to grow up big and strong and become a large insufferable ego. I want my ego to be so loud and obnoxious, everyone will want to hang around with me to perhaps glean some gold from my shimmering. My desire to be this is greater than my fear of becoming a self-absorbed brat as most artists are, needing an entourage of those less talented at self-absorption to tell them how absolutely wonderful and beautiful and talented they are at everything.
That's how artists are, you know. They are so full of themselves.
