The cost of creativity is born by few while being enjoyed by the many.
More than material cost or financial cost is the personal cost paid by the artist
Knowing aforehand that they will follow their creativity
regardless that fortune and satisfaction will likely avoid them
Bound to their gift like a slave in chains
even though they feel freedom is not a choice available to them
Unwillingly accepting the inherent emotional risks
that are part and parcel of a creative life
Enduring for long seasons at the hand of their endowment
Undone by their gift, dying a little with the production of each work
And yet renewed a little by success, should it choose to come,
such recompense being elusive and fleeting.
And should success, wealth and fame present themselves
To then have to avoid the so easily stumbled upon offenses
of arrogance, conceit, narcissism, and pomposity.
Resolved that their artistry always leads to anguish
Either via the path of disappointment and exhaustion
Or the flame of fame and adoration.
Perceiving that humanity may be willing to adore their works
But not consider it important enough to purchase
That they will bemoan the poor state of funding by governments,
selfish procurement by corporations and
opportunistic acquisition by the wealthy
but make no effective step towards personal cost
in order to enrich their own lives, endow enterprise with pleasant environment,
or even to maintain the aesthetic culture of society.
For this reason, it is rare to find a truly creative person that is
Free without being wild
Expressive without being excessive
Unrestrained without being intemperate
Solitarian without being reclusive
Melancholy without being saturnine
Can we blame them when
Their solitude turns them into an eremite
Their ill-humour into moody antagonism
Their indiscriminate sins into public excesses
And their attempts at amelioration
produces alcoholic manic-depressives
We approve when a corporation commences an expensive re-engineering of itself
in order to better serve its customers.
We demand that politicians commit to a higher calling than their personal betterment.
We applaud when a sportsman lives on the poverty line in order to reach his goal.
We admire the mother who goes without in order to give to her children.
Why then do we observe with disapproval the artist who gives to the point of emotional bankruptcy for the very thing that brings purpose to themselves and amenity to the world?