Even confined within these walls . . .
If I am a painter living all alone on earth,
painting for no one but myself,
how do I determine if my work is successful?
Is my work successful if I produce a painting that gives me pleasure?
Having no other painters to inspire me or with whom to compare my work,
does this affect my expectations for my work?
Is there even an idea of success, or what success means?
. . . when I look out on the fields after dark . . .
If painting were an expression of humanity,
would I even paint? Know what painting is?
Know what humanity is?
Would the act of painting even exist?
Was the very first cave painter drawing a story for others,
or was that drawing the first entry of a private diary?
Did that first artist marvel at the completed work,
worry at all about the approval of others?
. . . there is no sweet starry night without you.