Sorry, hate is such a harsh word. Especially for someone who loves art. Loves going to art shows. Someone who went to art school. Someone who has surrounded myself with different types of artists. I love artists, or so I thought. 

I've been so severely disappointed by artists in my life. It took me a long time to understand my frustrations and my inner wars with art and artists. It took me just as long to understand my inner wars with myself. In the midst of my dissatisfaction, I even began to feel like I hated art itself. I blamed art for the actions of its creators. 

But finally, I realize the core of the issue. 

I love their passion, their drive. It's something I've always wanted for myself and something I'm finally starting to feel. But now that I feel it for myself, my infatuation with them is gone. My respect for their talent has remained, but now I see everything for what it is [see definition of an Outsider]. 

Since I've had this realization, I have been paying even closer attention. Infatuation turned to extreme curiosity. I've studied their moves, their conversations, their insecurities. I've watched them be so trapped in their own minds that they don't even realize what's going on outside of the world they've created for themselves. They're all a little different, and yet exactly the same. I guess they're the lucky ones, unbothered by the realities of the world. 

And I can't blame them. 

I now know that it was my own self-doubt that attracted me to them. It was my own unfulfilled aspirations and insecurities, no matter how subconscious, that have drawn me to people that execute the way I thought I never could. There was an unknown desire to connect with people that didn't have to search for a true passion, or push themselves to do what they love and learn everything there is to know about it. As I relearn myself and my passions, my appreciation for yours has become so much more genuine. 

So when I say I hate you, I mean I love you. All of you. You are me. I am you.

- Ness