My wine induced passion

Is there something like loving something so much that you are consumed by it? I think that has been the story of all the maestros, the artists,the writers,the sculptors,the inventors and the musicians we love and revere. They loved their trade so much that they appeared senile to others. They had painful lives, loveless, lonely, doused in depression. And that sorrow portrayed itself in their work as a wishful thinking, Longing for beauty, passion immaterialized, and desire to love, desire for passion, and desire for happiness. Van Gogh killed himself; Verdi was a sad widower whose kids died in infancy, Puccini a compulsive flirt living with his childhood friend’s wife, in an unhappy relationship full of quarrels and violent fights. It almost seems that their love and lust for life was so consumed by their art that they had nothing more to share with the people around them. But oh the work, the work they created, Madame butterfly, Starry night, Riggoletto, art full of love, full of passion, full of anger, full of violence and beauty, insanity of admiration for beauty.Mozart died alone, poor and buried in a mass grave. So what is the definition of greatness, what is greatness? These artist were the best ever, their work was epitome in their respective field, still their life was fraught with bumps, lows and still lower lows. Do you have to be miserable to be great, do you have to be Fada, (touched by fairies) to be great? Do you have to have a passion uncontained in yourself, as a human being, brimming, falling out of you, to be able to create a masterpiece of centuries?

I would rather be a heroine in Verdi or Puccini’s opera, going through the highs and lows of passion, sorrow, joy, and love, than to have a constant blah life. Flat lined, I will leave that to when I die the flat line of sameness. For now I would love to go through the motions of passions, grief, joy, love, lust, desire, evil, sin and beauty. I would rather be a flawed character than be perfection, perfection is unattainable fantasy, flaws are interesting, room for improvement, room to grow, room to love! That is what made the great artists interesting, they were flawed, their lives were flawed, and they tried to remedy it again and again in their art by growing improving and working towards perfection. Perfection breeds contempt and laziness. Thus artistic people are imperfect, and they know it, their fight is life, to live against odds and translate it into beauty for all to enjoy!!