In an essay about Kafka, David Foster Wallace wrote the following words, “the horrific struggle to establish a human self results in a self whose humanity is inseparable from that horrific struggle. […] our endless and impossible journey toward home is in fact our home.”
Now, he was talking about Kafka’s works, but I think that phrase pretty much sums up what art is all about.
As a writer, as an artist, I’m interested in people. It’s not only about empathy, but also about understanding how things work. That’s something you can’t really learn. Or read about in a book. You either have it or you don’t.
Now, about this phrase. The journey, not the destination.
View original post 354 more words