I wrote this a couple of years back and I think it’s worth unearthing and putting out there again.
There’s a common conception among artists of every kind that making art is hard, that an artist’s life is and should be a struggle, that unless you’re suffering you’re not making real art. Or you’re not doing it right.
I say bollocks to that.
I have spent long periods of time being depressed, and struggling, and having a hard life, and none of it had to do with my art or being an artist. It had to do with the fact that my life and the circumstances that had accumulated within it had screwed up my joy of it somehow. The need to create was actually the life line that I used to pull me up out of the stinking mud. It helped me to keep my head above water long enough to work out what was really wrong with my life and to do something about…
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