My dear,
Why does the writer write but to escape the hell within her by grabbing a hold of it and thrashing it about the pages? Why does the painter paint but to keep his nightmares at bay by giving form to them with every stroke of his brush? Why does the inventor invent if not for her need to create something that makes the hell of a world she lives in a little more bearable?
No one has ever written, painted, sculpted, modeled, built, or invented except literally to get out of hell.
Avoid the being who’s gotten out of hell, they are either lying or, even worse, cut off from creation.
Falsely yours,
Antoine Marie Joseph Artaud
