The line where the creative obsession and the humanity of the artist is blurred - where is it? The line where the creator is forced to decide to pull yet another all nighter, or tuck themselves into bed, face mask on, freshly showered, cup of tea sipped, melting into a blissful evening of the ever so coveted good night's sleep - when is the choice the right one?
The artistic stereotype comes into play - is it all just a bunch of mumbo jumbo, or is an artistic truly born with a different wiring, with a different perspective of the world? Do they see in colors more vibrant than others or are the others simply untuned, less cultured and more afraid of being open to failing at being creative?
The typical artistic temperament is often times known as those who bear the burden, the heaviness of all of the world, incredibly sensitive, moved by the smallest lyrical dances of everyday moments, touched by the least beautiful, most normaloccurrences. The artist often is a vessel for these gorgeous, glittering pieces of life, that are typically overlooked, yet transformed into something tangible, visual,audible - something that the "non-artistic" type can subconsciously soak in and be moved by. That song that can bring a person to tears while driving, without it being called upon. Those notes and lyrics that just sneak up on you. They've often times been translated through the artist's brain first and then presented to everyone else in a shiny, bowed package.