I wonder where all the chairs have gotten to? Have you noticed there is no place to sit anymore?
Is this some kind of cosmic game of musical chairs? Are we all just waiting for the great controller of music to lift the needle off the turntable so we can lunge for the one and only four-legged piece of furniture left in the room, even if it is wobbly and missing an arm?
Do you see that gathering crowd over there by the wall? Those are the ones that have been declared "out." They didn't grab a chair in time.
Creativity feels so futile on many of my days, especially since I'm no longer interested in sacrificing my body for the cause. I don't want to engage in an elbows flying, spit hurling vengeance for a piece of the pie.
I want a chair simply because I'm human, and alive and willing to sit in a chair. But even this isn't enough anymore. The chairs are scarce, all the more so if it's a masterpiece you're after.
More and more people need convincing that art is needed. Some days I have felt like a walking trench coat, unfurling my majesty on street corners for all the world to sample my wares. The unfurling must be grandiose and unmatched. Just how wide is your arm-span?
What do you build after the enchanted castle has fell to ruin? What do you build after the rose-colored glasses have been crushed in the palms of the great big giant of indifference? What do you sit in when chair after chair after chair have been mere illusions and your butt is sore from the crash?
Art requires something from you, and you must decide if it's worth it. Even for "bad" art. Eventually you will need to build your own chair, carve out your own privacy, sit with the scribblings of your own bad novel. And when it is time, set fire to the ruins and move on. If this creative road is the road you still choose, you will find your way.
Have you any magic left? What will you make to hold you?