so... where we stuck? artistic woman. there is always gonna be a cognitive dissonance. why? because natural way to become a true artist is to be born as a man. art for a man - (if it is really creative treasure) - is never a blessing, it is a burden, and you can always observe the print of this burden in the manners of artist, on his face expression and in his eyes. million years of evolution assigned a special role for every born man - struggling for attention of a woman at any costs, when art is a surviving policy and not a fun toy.
artistic woman as an odd oxymoron from the very beginning has constantly problem with a reason. if she doesn't aim to capture an interest of another woman, even an imaginary one, there is nothing left for her but to squeeze some sort of inspiration out of any emotional garbage like fictional exaggerated dramas or even exalted fantasies about relationship of the others.
of course it is not bad at all if you can see a robust as bull tough rosy-cheeked artistic woman trying to express a romantic suffer, no, but it is just bizarre. and this "bizarre" is not only becomes some sort of an art too, but it goes even further - it is cheerful and successful elbowing the original art. and all this sparkling performance becomes so stunningly captivating that even me - the illicit lover of natural art - cannot decide which part of myself should dominate. the good and generous part of me feels a motivation to send some special ray to the universe that could maybe ricochet and finally bring to the artistic woman at least one idiotic fool with a stable erection, but another my part - egoistic and greedy - is striving to breathe in more from possible coming jewel performances. and so the life is still not easy