Artist's Soliloquy

Who am I?

I question myself daily.I am called by so many different names that it befuddles me.

I am an artist.A painter,a sculptor,a musician,a playwright.Sometimes I amaze myself with my talents.

However,unlike most members of my community,I do not revel in the adulation showered upon me.Unlike most my compatriots,I do not take pride in my creations.Unlike most of them,I have no delusions of grandeur.Unlike most,I feel no shame in admitting that my best is behind me.

And yet I find that there is more hype and clamour around me than ever before.Andy Warhol once said,'Death can make you a star';well,I am alive,acclaimed and amused about it.

So,what do I make out of all this?Have you started accepting mediocrity as merit,perceiving destructive as deserving,below-par as brilliance?And if so,who is responsible?Or is it simply that self-appointed intermediaries are doing a fantastic job of moulding your opinions and judgement.

Let me be honest,I believe that you have lost so much of yourself that you need something other than yourself to believe in and it ends up being me.Something which in all the upheaval can still remind you of beauty,tranquility,lucidity.I am fine with the fact.The only problem being,your placing faith in what others say about me,but not in me.

It saddens me to admit that your decline is greater than mine and is perhaps the cause of my downfall too;for an artist can only be as good as his patrons.

Yet you live in a state of denial,believing in my infallibility because you can't care to admit your own decadence.

Generally you pray to me but today I pray to you,step out of your ignorance,leave behind trivialities,forget your differences;you call me God but I am simply the best that's still left in you.