I am reminded today that my parents have always been unsupportive and hurtfully critical of everything I've done, from my appearance, to my computer game obsession, to my paintings, piano, guitar, singing, writing, and everything else. But this also also reminded me that no artist can escape critics, who are everywhere.
Many artists have support and encouragement from someone, a family member or friend, while knowing that everyone else disregards him or treats him with ignorance, distain, suspicion, jealousy, or hatred. This evening I am thankful for the support and encouragement from Deborah and Andrew in particular, and the friends and supporters who wish me well, but also the imaginary spirits of history and destiny, the angels.
History, future humanity, begs me to do my best and I must oblige. This self-drive, almost a guilt-feeling of debt to humanity, is essential, and unquenchable. Critics are transient insects by comparison to the weight of humanity. The balance of these scales must be kept in mind as we work.
