One of my biggest realisations over the last few years is that artists live very mundane lives. On the whole.
And I say that mostly as an observing. And reader of many (auto)biographies.
Aside from the creation of the art itself, they live surprisingly mundane lives. Some as recluses.
Take, as an example, one of my biggest all time heroes, Bob Dylan. Someone I’ve admired for as long as I can remember.
Despite being constantly thrust into the limelight as “spokes person for a generation,” he constantly shunned the limelight. Sometimes almost violently so.
He just kept doing his thing and everyone kept believing he was politically motivated for the longest time. Despite he himself maintaining he was merely a singer and an artist.
He never asked to be or claimed to be a ‘spoke person for a generation’ or, for that matter, a spokesperson for anything.
More than 50 years on from his most notable of reproaches to the spokesman role at an infamous concert in London in 1965, he’s still travelling, touring with his band and singing in front of people.
I find it interesting that he’s lived a relatively mundane life, despite people thinking that at any moment he would change the world with his next move.
Some would argue that, for them, his words did.