I went down to the beach this morning. Had a coffee. Watched a couple of people out on the choppy water.<\/p>\n
They weren\u2019t windsurfing exactly. They were standing on boards, holding small sails with both hands. No mast or lines. Just the weight of their bodies and the shape of the wind.<\/p>\n
It looked like they were winging it. Literally. Turns out it\u2019s actually a thing – wing foiling. You stand on a board and hold an inflatable wing, like a small untethered sail. It looks strange\u2026 like someone left the house with the wrong equipment, stepped out into the sea anyway, holding an umbrella or something – and decided to surf with it.<\/p>\n
And then, somehow, it gets a bit magic.<\/p>\n
It got me thinking about that quote: \u201cThe artist is the child who survived.\u201d<\/p>\n
Perhaps you know the one I mean.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s from a longer thought that circulates in a few forms – sometimes attributed to Rilke, sometimes Nietzsche, sometimes floating without a source, like those wing foilers. The gist seems to be that the artist kept alive parts of themselves many lose, split off from, bury, or project. Or at least that\u2019s my interpretation – that the sensitivity, play, wonder, and pain of the child – they found a creative way to stay in contact with, built a channel to\u2026 and their art (perhaps) is a continuation of that early sensitivity, that purity of feeling – recognised, seen, kept alive. Their sensitivity survived.<\/p>\n
So it\u2019s not just that artists feel more, but that they built a structure to stay connected with the whole self – and that connection is their art. A lived continuity.<\/p>\n
The artist isn\u2019t only defined by talent. They\u2019re also defined by what they\u2019ve stayed connected to. Their creative wholeness.<\/p>\n
Just imagine if everyone had stayed in contact with their sensitivity.<\/p>\n
How wonderful the world would be.<\/p>\n
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