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… if you see how anything you could paint would just be adding more mediocre shit to a world already crammed with mediocre shit. if you realise you’re forty-one years old and you’ve reached the end of your god-given potential, well, cheers.
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and misty said, “i’m not having kids. i’m going to be an artist.”
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that quest for something pretty. a cheat. a cliché. flowers and christmas lights, it’s what we’re programmed to love. someone young and lovely. the women on spanish television with big boobs and a tiny waste like they’ve been twisted three times.
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“what i mean is sometimes, for an artist, chronic pain can be a gift”
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just for the record, the problem with art school is that it can teach you technique and craft, but it can’t give you talent. you can’t buy inspiration. you can’t reason your way to an epiphany. develop a formula. a road map to enlightenment.
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isbn 0-224-06389-8
chuck palahniuk web