Modern Day Hamlets.

I wonder how many people are satisfied with their art.

When I finish writing, I always want to go back and change things a million times. And when I like it or think i’m finished, then I go back and read it in some months and it isn’t nearly as incredible or profound as I thought. If this is the case for me then is it the case for painters? Do people look at their painting and love it, but somewhere it’s creator wishes he could change this one shade of blue or purple.

What if an author has already published the book. And he remembered that one detail that he wanted to add. He would forever have everyone reading a book that he wasn’t finished with. To be honest, how do you ever finish a book? How does it ever remain satisfying once you’ve learned new things since then? Is it that the artist is comfortable with how it is because it reflects what he knew then? Is the artist content because he can always put out more art and move forward? Or are some simply dwelling on the imperfections?  ..WIshing that they knew then what they know now? Wishing they could change it. Even if now is ten seconds after being published, or 10 years.

Has this idea crossed other peoples mind? are there millions of words hidden away in the document files of laptops? Laptops with crumbs in the keyboards from muffins and scones that they ate while writing in the local cafe? All for their writer to click “Save”. Because it isn’t ready.  Are there  men and woman out there suffering from the tragic flaw? The inability to act– publish and be satisfied.

 

 

 

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