The saint and the ass.

Many artists whom I admire are complete jerks in real life. I am so used to this phenomena by now that I have become suspicious of any nice person who tries to be an artist. I don’t have high expectations of the work made by somebody gentle and sympathetic.

I am seldom disappointed in my prejudices. With the caveat that my taste in friends is probably rather odd. I often end up respecting these weirdos far more than people who are probably more deserving.

To me it makes sense. The -let’s call it- “lack of social skills” of many great artists is a logical consequence of my belief that an artist is a mere vessel, a medium that makes a connection between the eternal and the now.

Inside of every artist’s normal human appearance, there is another person: a wiser man, a holy man. This sacred being is by no means the “essence” of the person, or his “true self”, or anything like that. On the contrary: this is a virtually parasitic relationship in which the alien saint inside simply uses the body of the human host to give birth to works of art.

The human vessel often has no better understanding of the work produced by the saint inside than any other member of the audience. But he is aware of this process and he knows that there is a holy being living inside of him. A being that is so gentle and kind and wise and empathic that it surpasses any sentiment and intellect that humans would ever be capable of.

In the face of such absolute superiority, the human incarnation of the artist has no inclination whatsoever to compete with this divinity that he is confronted with every moment of his life. In a way, he doesn’t care about what happens to him, whether people like him or not, whether he offends his fellow earthlings or not. Because inside of him is pure nobility, the Creator of Beauty, the Generator of Meaning, the Giver of Comfort.

The artist knows that his art is his gift to the world. There is nothing his human form can do to surpass this, to bring more joy to people’s lives. So he behaves like an ass. And makes a total spectacle out of himself. And he doesn’t care.

I admire such people. To a fault, probably.