Fuckin’ artists, man. You write a thing, and then they draw it, and it’s like “oh, until I saw this drawing of it I had no genuine understanding or appreciation of this thing I invented, described, and spent hours thinking about. I realise now what I made was only… [1/2]

…a shadow on the wall, a glimpsed reflection in a puddle, a crude facsimile of clay, messy with thumbprints. But now you have made it flesh, given it bones and breath and substance and truth and only now — *now* — finally can I know it and write it as it deserves.” So yeah. *Artists*. [2/2]