A young local artist has, by coming out of the closet, unwittingly severed ties with the source of his creativity.
He, fearing the reaction of friends, family and detractors alike, had kept quiet about his sexual preference, a decision that, while torturous to him, also fuelled the creation of many beautiful works of art. His recent decision to not allow the opinions of others rule his life has been thoroughly empowering to him, though, unfortunately, highly detrimental to his art.
Now that he is no longer plagued by demons his ability to create intense works of art has all but died; his paintings, once darkly forlorn and imbued with a deep sense of suspicion, are now uncomfortably bright and happy. In addition to this, his prose has lost all evidence of its previously astounding lyricism, and he can no longer make his poems not rhyme.
His only hope now, he has stated somewhat jokingly, is to somehow adopt the air of melancholic desolation that has served many a "rock star" in the past. There is no reason, he sees, that, while no longer a tortured artist, he cannot live the life of one.
Written on Sunday, 8 June 2003