Great artists, each to their own, develop their unique perception and understanding of reality through a highly intuitive state of mind, which later redeems itself in Science as one of the many hues of Universal Truth.
Great artists tend to possess an innate force, an intensity which ruthlessly consumes the entirety of their being. It may be a certain desire, a dominating hunger, a painful longing, or a torturous yet obscured sense of incompletion. These are the thorns that insinuate a hell-bent vision out of their present existence, thus compelling them to amplify their creativity and responsiveness to the flashing illuminations of the mind. Furthermore, the presence of such absence crucifies their emotional and spiritual well-being - pushing and permitting them with a spiraling awareness, an endless growth with realizations, discoveries, learning, and expressing of truths which the common human senses fail to behold.
Too many a time, these characters' grounds become a source societal ridicule because the realities they share stray far from the accepted grounds. They become condemned with the most unlikely reasons, such as 'societal seduction', 'public deception', 'blasphemy', 'trickery'. Yet do notice that man gradually comprehends the teachings of these artists through time, suggesting the possibility that fictitious realities may actually be factual ones. The only factor in grounding the ideal lies in the mind and its belief/conviction regarding the subject in question.
It is unfortunate on the artist's part, though, that life seems incapable of succoring their inner discord. Every great work of expression they've crafted should've been enough a consolation, one might think. Yet, artists rarely feel justified with their accomplishments. They perceive these masterpieces as mere products of catharsis. The crimsoned apple of their seething eyes, sadly, ceases to be in their presence.
Emotional instability, it seems, strongly clasps the artists' state of being. Beneath the instability is a deeply mysterious power that is yet to be thoroughly probed.
This is where we witness the paradoxical truth of a power that operates both as a blessing and a curse. Suddenly, it becomes clear that artists have existed serving as sacrificial lambs. Their pain heaves out beauty and truth. Yet, beauty and truth only greatly benefits humanity, not the artist's hunger for what cannot be eaten.
For what the artist hankers for is usually a permanent state of being that's both upon the summit level and the deep-seated arcane, expanding its breadth and depth - once upon a timeless forever. It is true, though, that this is a possible goal for the soul through the presence of the skeptic-scoffed 'unconditional love'. This, however, has proven to be a lot of work for the soul. Sylvia Plath has clearly demonstrated that truth.
One quality seems imperative amongst artists: Courage.
With the presence of passion and love, it is not impossible.