I really thought I wanted to be an artist, a very genuine true artist. Of course the image of a true artist transcending through ages is of one in rags, the kind of people who never enjoy any material pleasures in life and of course earn a fortune when they die.
I had never really pictured myself like that. I wanted to be in the difficult position of somehow maintaining my so called artistic integrity in my head and still live a comfortable life. What do I ask from life anyways, a house, a car, an apple laptop and enough money in the bank to buy anything I want to :) . I do have many people around who are all judgmental about what is true art and what is not but in-spite of being judgmental myself, I always have that basic existential question ringing in my sub-conscious. What is true art? Is it just an outlet for self obsessed mental masturbation or is there something more to it, something which is more genuine? Is it really needed? What good does it do and even if it does, does it do more harm than good?
So many irritating questions, they really fly around my head. This thinking also makes me question myself, 'am I self-obsessed?'. Of course, at times I may act like a know-et-all and at times I may try to solve a problem which is way out of my knowledge domain and of course I'm right most of the times but I don't think I'm self obsessed or maybe I am. Now, how am I supposed to solve the problem without even knowing what the problem. Maybe I should lay back and think there is not problem. Ignorance is bliss as they say. And I definitely have to ignore a lot of things to lead a 'delusion' free life.
I really did think I wanted to be an artist but that pay check....
