Shirley Graham Du Bois says that all forms of madness, bizarre habits, awkwardness in society, general clumsiness, are justified in the person who creates good art.

I appreciate the thought, I thought she was talking to me, I have experienced madness, I have many bizarre habits, I have always been awkward in society, I am generally clumsy, and from what I can see, none of these traits and habits have been seen as justified by society at large.

My teachers scolded me, my bosses wanted to strangle me, my father insisted bleakly that I had potential, I cannot tolerate dinner parties, small talk, art shows, literary gatherings, awards or ribbons, self-congratulations,  I have never figured out the rituals of friendship, family and socializing that other people seem to know.

I am difficult and quirky, and have always been difficult. Perhaps that, more than anything, has inspired my art.

I cannot justify any of these things in the name of art, being an artist does not entitle me to anything  other people don’t  have, or make me one bit better than them. I don’t make excuses for myself, or ask anyone else to excuse me for anything I do.

Being a Dyslexic explains some of these things, but doesn’t justify any of them. I don’t have the answers, but I do have the questions.

I like Anton Chekhov’s idea the best, the role of the artist is to ask  questions, not answer them. Or Joseph Campbell’s idea: the role of the artist is to bring color and light to the sometimes discouraged people of the world.

The thing is, being an artist and a writer is just what I am, I never really had a choice, I am just listening to the whispers of the heart, and I have learned to like myself enough so that I no longer really care what other people think of me.

And let’s face it, what else could I possibly do?

The garden speaks to me, the colors is radiant and spiritual, I think the flowers are all angels that sing out to me.