...What ever happened to that? I have these great zen moments where all is right with the world. I'm full of creative ideas, and I can see the beauty in everyone. Then there's those days that put me in the blackest of moods. They are hard to shake off. See I have this tendency to martyr myself for the cause: art. Whenever I encounter people who just don't see the point, it saddens me.

Well, let me backtrack. I can accept that not every type of art is everyone else's cup of tea. I get that. What I don't get is the venom, you know what I mean? It's not just the Rudy Gullianis of the world. A lot of the time it's other folks who are also trying to follow an artsy path. Because of fear or insecurity? Who knows, probably.

I grew up with NO access to the arts. Like none. I had to beg for a set of watercolors and a sketchbook, that I would make last for at least a year before I dared ask for anything else. I owned exactly 5 books until I went to college. Art classes? Not outside of school, that's for sure. Even then, I had to take "real" subjects like math and science to be "allowed" to study art. Can you imagine that? What is so subversive about a high school art class? To this day I struggle to see myself as a valid artist-- whatever that means.

So when I see art in all of its forms reduced to dollar value and academic vs. outsider/fine art vs. craft discussions, it breaks my heart. Instead of campaigning for more art and music in the schools, and strengthening the laws of copyright (yes they are important) the grown-ups are busy fighting amongst themselves for a crap piece of the poo pie.

Makes no sense to me.

Okay, I'm done ranting. As much as I want to scream "shut your mouth!", have a smoke, and a Manhattan on the rocks, I won't. Hiding under the covers and becoming a depressive cliche is not an option.