The Chase
Nothing is worse than a copycat, a rip-off artist. Those devoid of originality who chase trends like the wind, never quite catching them. Why do some chase while others create? Why do some seek acclaim through the intellect of another? They copy the true artist's work, feigning the labor, to feed on the artistic efforts of others. The answer is as mundane as it is predictable: they lack originality. They weren't born with the immutable spirit that brings forth life. They can only create what they've seen, ingested, and expelled.
For these parasites, it's about finding the right host to absorb for a time. They have no direction of their own, no volition, and thus blame others for their lack of success. In one final act of irony, the false artist declares that the universe refused to give them the originality they sought, often blaming God for not providing enough life-blood to create anything of significance. These people struggle with their artistic voice caught in an ironic whirlpool of false creativity and pretense of artistic grandeur. Their talents are better suited for retail; which they will likely end up.
The leech has two daughters. ‘Give! Give!’ they cry. They declare that nothing is new while ravenously seeking a new host to devour. How do you avoid being consumed by those who crave the flesh of your fresh perspective? you can't; The leech is never satisfied. You are either born to create or doomed to be a parasite.
Creators are too busy working to consider the parasite. They won't indulge in high-minded fantasies or philosophical debates about their creation; they simply create because they must. While parasites long to talk about their beliefs and achievements, the creator declines, choosing instead to continue working. Parasites grow fat on the ideas floating around stagnant artistic circles, since the parasite is incapable of discerning simulacrum from blood. Art galleries do not house true artists; they house fakers who crave attention. A creator needs no acknowledgment; whether or not someone notices, He will continue working. Even until death.
If the leech hungers for you, ravening for your work, your ideas, this as a compliment; for you possess that special something that they will never attain. They will always hate and admire you. The locust has no king. You cannot fake the journey nor feign the work required to create something great. The creator's mindset is pragmatic. He creates tools to finish his creations, gaining wisdom to be of higher use for God. parasites can only generate pretentious indulgent mimicry. The leech is never satisfied.
There are no straight or easy pathways towards true art.
