And when an artist has met their demise the world would marvel wide eye awed by the genius of their work. The critic will evoke their deeds when he sets out to make sense of it all, while the art historian attempts to wedge that creative’s life into the fabric of our memory might just spawn and stir that artist into solidity such that generations to come cannot but pay their respect to his person before they claim their place in the assemblies of the art world whatever their preoccupations. How sad and sweet is the life of an artist is! A contradiction.
But the artist while blessed with a yoke of health must just respond to the outside stimuli. An artist must work. Must produce. They must search and must discover, they must draw our ignorant attention to the world we inhabit. They must ask for nothing in return except our attention which they can gain through innovation enshrined in hard work and self discipline. For surely the world will remain judgmental of the artist, as it is never impartial to anyone preoccupied with reworking the boundaries or toppling them altogether…
mmutle arthur kgokong 2014