He asked me how I felt when I saw that another artist had made something I happened to have an idea for. I was 23 at the time, he was 34. I told him I would be jealous, angry, insecure. Ideas are hard to come by, I thought. Something to be guarded and protected because you never know when another one will come again. There was your identity too, you know how everyone loves a person with a good idea, and you wanted to be the one who had it.
He told me that for him it was a relief. When he sees that another artist made something he had an idea for, he knows the idea has been taken care of, it will no longer haunt him, and he's free to attend to all the others that are waiting.
Twenty years later, I get it. Ideas fly and flutter and flow around me, taunting my lack of time. Like looking through a kaleidoscope, ideas are born, again and again, with every turn and shift of the glass.
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