art vs. life, hmmm? well... ok.
there are many different kinds of artists. some people that fall under the traditional definition of artist don't necessarily have any place in my analysis. that's just the way it goes sometimes. i'm going to be talking about those that use art to define their lives, themselves. anyone less interested in art than that is flying under the radar of this commentary.
for the true artist it is not enough to write beautifully, or well. that beauty must be reflected in every aspect of their existence. ugliness must be found there, too, if we are to believe that they are human; there must be equal parts beauty and ugliness, and both quotients in excess of what might be deemed healthy or recommandable. and indeed the artist must be human. if the artist is to presume divinity, the artist is to demand what praise necessarily belongs to that which he should be serving without question or expectation of recompense. the artist does ask if his postcard is aesthetically pleasing. he thinks not only of the lover who will read it, but all who might read it after. the artist is aware of all times that if he lives in the service of art, then every action is a testament to that service; every action is subject to record and anecdotal resurrection. the artist is a storyteller, and indeed the artist must live stories if he is to know how to tell them.
when a biography is written about an artist, that artist's life should read as though he should have been a tragic hero in some great novel.