Dear Artist, (this is no love letter)

Don’t expect apologies at the end of this.


They say it’s hard out there. They say, dear artist, you will have to die before you make the money deserving of your talents. It’s unfortunate, I know, but do you know something?

These things happen.

You can either make them happen or you can hope to catch them on the late night news as they happened earlier that day.

You see, dear artist, it’s up to you. Do it or get off the stage. Stop painting. Speak less. Close that book. Put that piano in the corner over there. Stop plucking at those strings. Drop that pen. Stop sketching. Rest that mind of yours. No one cares, can’t you see?

Why do you persist to take your pictures? No one looks at them anymore.

Your book of rhymes and big ideas is clutter. How then, pray tell, are you still an artist? What qualities set you apart from the rest of us? Don’t they call that claiming?

So, dear artist, you’re claiming.

Masquerading as something you used to be or maybe could have been.

Things aren’t looking good for you, you know.

But, then again, who’s to blame for your misfortune? You can still be great, only because you already are. Your greatness is not the thing that you must chase; it’s that which you must stop running from.

Find your sweet spot and enjoy life.

No one is going to attain your dream for you. In fact, no one is going to dream it for you either
Namaste