little of my own creation

I have been working on things like Wrong Brain and baking and not on my own work. Sadness.
Well, here is a "letter from the editor" I wrote for WB4.


Artistic Family


I appreciate the lone artist, the starving shut-in who paints masterpiece after masterpiece until she dies, cold, staring at her latest unfinished offspring. She is a hero who is read about in art history class, giving me and other hopefuls a romantic ideal of artistic euphoria. But with such creative energy comes an inevitable reclusive, destructive and depressing lifestyle. Why is the most tormented the most powerful? I desire the traumatic to motivate. This desire is unhealthy. I need an artistic family.
The Damaged Soul has been my unrealistic artistic ideal. I recognize the deliriousness and hopelessness of my Artist Hero. My work compared to the Damaged Soul’s just seems fruity. Silly. Fake. If I aspire to be a demented genius, why do I spend my time publishing zines with my colleague’s work? Why reach out to the creative beings around me?
Perhaps if I cannot muster up enough creative energy within myself, I can harvest it from those around me. Although the ideas and subjects themselves are birthed from my subconscious, a fervent motivation to give them a proper home is not always present. Seeing and feeling the work of my artistic family drives me to get these things out of my head and into the world. Perhaps I can kill my Damaged Soul ideal with my artistic family, Wrong Brain.