Speaking as one who calls himself an artist, let me just say that every
last one of you who has expressed an opinion on the nature of art is
right. Likewise, every last one of you is wrong.

�Art� is a word. Just a word.

It belongs to that same, special family of conceptual, socio-political
hot-potato words as �good�, �evil�, �love�, and �honor�.

We constantly banter these words about as if we were all having
discussions about the same thing, when actually we are talking round and
round and right past each other, each of us clinging for dear life to
the private little definitions in our own heads without once trying to
reach out and understand what the others actually mean.

I know what an empathic person is, and I adore them.
I do not know what a good person is.
I know what a sadistic person is, and I avoid them.
I do not know what an evil person is.
I know what a trustworthy person is, and I rely on them.
I do not know what an honorable person is.
I know what a creative person is, and I applaud them.
I call myself an artist, but I don�t know what I mean.

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Glacian, in the year 346 AF.