The place you know an artist

The place you know the artist is not their work that the whole world sees, not the book everyone has a copy of, not the artwork everyone hangs in their rooms. Not when their name lingers on lips. You know an artist when the fame fades and the world no longer pays them the attention it used to, except a few core fans the superiority of their art has gripped by the heart — tight, unyielding, and yet pleasant.

You know an artist on the sophomore album no one listened to except you and the one friend you don’t really talk to — but you’re surprised they have such good taste. You know them when they drop a new book without promotion, new art without back story. You don’t know them by a description of their art, you only do through intense focus on their body of work — the only way to understand genius. Only then, you understand, through your unique experience and interaction with greatness. Who this person is when they play not for the gallery, not to the tune of publishers or readers, music execs or overstimulated listeners, investors or pompous art critics.

Only for themselves. To themselves.