THE ARTISTIC TEMPER

AN EXPOSITION
Michaella Giuliana Arriola
III Bohr

Edgar Allan Poe reached new heights in literature just because he was, in every sense of the word, drunk. Being drunk and fated for misfortune doubled up the spice of his gloom and the fantastical illusions he got that penetrated his writings so much so that the Franks will revere him as the Father of Horror and Mystery. And, the French are frank people, dun’cha know? This point of reasoning truly takes a cake of many of the proof that customs of society never mesh perfectly with genius terms.
Another example of a great misunderstanding is the life of Vincent Van Gogh. The guy cut off his ear, for Pete’s sake, and died alone under a bridge in Italy. After his death, his works were recovered from his workshop and many other places and only then was he appreciated for the beauty that was his art. The same went for Edgar.
These artists were discovered after their time was due and we never got to thank them or praise them—but I suppose that the pain they felt was the price for their art. The paragon that is society scrutinizes such talents and sometimes so much so that it pulverizes the dream of the maestro and destroys his life and the talent mauled forever.