When I was a little girl, my mother used to drop me off at the San Jose Museum of Art for art classes. I don't remember what time of day it was, or exactly how old I was, but it was always cold and dark in the cathedral-like rooms (why are museums and churches sometimes so similar??). I'm sure there were other people in the class and teachers with their weird perfumed/paint smells, but for the life of me, I only remember being there alone---as if the finger-paint miraculously appeared on my fingertips, the conte crayon smudges just my sweat stains, the bumpy watercolor paper in rolls like butcher paper, yadda yadda. Ever since then, I suppose art has always been connected to inherent solitude--at least, the act of making it. This includes the intentions and all the factors that go into why we do the things we do when we make art or music, etc.
Anyhow, for all this babble, which came from an idea that was organically swelling in my head, and which I tried to summarize in a paragraph, and which now I will just conclude with an overly simplistic statement that will probably have no apparent meaning to me tomorrow morning (afternoon, hehe) when I wake up and forget where this train of thought had led me, it seems to me, at 4am in Seoul, on a September day, that musicians are lonely and artists are alone.
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