A friend of mine, after reading some of my more disparaging poetry, remarked that one must truly feel tortured by the human condition to be an artist. With a smile, I replied: "To capture sorrow, one must possess sorrow. To capture joy, one must possess sorrow."
No matter how doleful such a proclamation may appear, I did not intend to sound angstful or self-pitying. Artistic impetus, in my opinion, derives nourishment from a certain clarity of experience. A life without loss, without pain, without a single streak of utter desolation, lacks the dynamic contrast necessary to invoke one's muse.
It is by immersing oneself in darkness that one grows sensitive to light, and by forging a familiarity with darkness that one discovers how little light she actually requires to survive.
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