How to be a good writer
Get over yourself
Stop mythologising “writing” as a laborious gift inflicted upon you and see it for what it is: a hobby you might monetise
Do it because it’s fun & you have something to say
Do it because you like telling stories
Do it because the way words sound is delightful to your ears
Try to:
i. make people laugh
ii. make people think
iii. say new things in interesting ways
Get a real job
How to make good art
Make bad personal choices
Use your hands
Do it with love and a sense of humour
Make it with friends
Refine “Good” so whatever you make fits the bill
Do it because it’s fun!!!!!
The weirder and more in line with your own taste the better
Remember that so-called ‘bad’ art is much more charming than ‘good’ art if it oozes with character
Art made with the intention to enjoy the process rather than a glittering end result will always have value
Don’t explain it – it’s not yours now
How to develop your own artistic taste
React with feeling before thought
Think about that feeling and question why
Decide if you like it and then commit to your stance
Discuss it in depth with your friends
Think long and hard about whether you agree or disagree with them
Order another drink to the table
Seek all artforms out – find it yourself – stumble upon something enchanting and hold it very dearly
I went to Brussels to see a band I loved when I was a teenager. We went to the Magritte museum because my friend Rhianwen is artistically inclined and knows about these things. I had no idea who he was until I saw the very famous paintings. I’ve always been interested in surrealism and the absurd, though strictly in a film and literary sense. Walking around the gallery helped me to make sense of some stray thoughts I’d been having. When I saw this painting – the Empire of Light – I felt like a bawling child; soothed by simple colours. I didn’t know I’d been bawling. It had been so quiet. I am not an art critic. I don’t know why it made me feel like this. Lots of emotions emerged at once. An everpresent melancholy merged, seamlessly, into some indefinable, bottomless desire. Time was solid for a little bit. It had been ugly once, but now I was here: waiting for someone who had stuck around to stop reading the signage and tell me all about technique.