I am not a neurotic!""You're trembling with nerves and sensibility—""Of course I am, I'm an artist!

Suppose she never got into art school, suppose she was not a painter after all? Suppose the talents which others had persuaded her she possessed were to abandon her overnight, or turn out to have been unreal all the time? Suppose she had to take a typing course or live with a word processor? I would die, she thought, I would kill myself or make myself die of grief. Already there was one great deep grief in her life.

The painter copies this bed from one point of view. He is thus at three removes from reality. He does not understand the bed, he does not measure it, he could not make it.

Εγώ δεν μπορώ να καταλάβω πως είναι δυνατό να είναι κανείς καλλιτέχνης και να μην προσπαθεί συνεχώς να γίνει τέλειος.

Every artist is an unhappy lover. And unhappy lovers want to tell their story.