Friday, August 10, 2012

Possession: Portrait of the Artist

There must be a well inside of me that has burst.

I have started writing and now I cannot stop. It's like I am a flooding river who cannot be contained, a dike in Holland that has burst and refuses to be rebuilt. I am absolutely manic and producing thousands upon thousands of words, and I cannot control them, they are not coming from me but someplace beyond my grasp, I am just a vessel.

I am writing in my head, characters are speaking to me, I am a woman possessed.

Proust wrote himself sick, to his death, him too a man possessed and writing, writing, writing all night.

I will finally profess and proclaim it, this thing I have never been able to admit to myself nor declare to the world:

I am an artist, and I paint with words.

Ut pictura poesis.

Thank the heavens I live in the country for whom the ultimate artist is The Writer.

il faut faire la po├ęsie comme la peinture. 

There is no going back now.

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