or his calling. If you don't believe me, ask Van Gogh, who
produced masterpiece after masterpiece and never found a
buyer in his whole life.
The artist must operate territorially. He must do his work
for its own sake.
To labor in the arts for any reason other than love is
prostitution. Recall the fate of Odysseus' men who slew the
cattle of the sun.
Their own witlessness cast them away.
The fools! To destroy for meat the oxen
of the most exalted Sun, wherefore the sun-god
blotted out the day of their return.
In the hierarchy, the artist faces outward. Meeting some-
one new he asks himself, What can this person do for me?
How can this person advance my standing?
In the hierarchy, the artist looks up and looks down. The
one place he can't look is that place he must: within.