They still haunt

I see those artists who create, who have works that will never see the life of day. Who calls to be carried over to the next, to be made into something that is articulated into artifices.

Crazy as it may sound, of the creeping edge of the deaths who I missed, yet they didn't miss, they minds went out quicker, yet the made more and more art to the point. Artists that did not last from the prosumer dystopias, along with the rented-mule work schedules. They transcended.

The made a mark, not a market, at the place a moment without commercial value, or a bit. Exhibiting the mastery of the craft regardless, bringing the story of the craftsman towards the point of what we may call art, with its own restrictions.

Don't ever expect a gravy train for an artist.