What is the role of an artist in a difficult time, when the museums and art galleries are closed and those cafés where they would find stories are empty? What is the duty of a poet when the muse is sad. How can they bring back that rainbow lost somewhere?
The more I read about artists and poets, I am intrigued by their life because they are not one. They carry the universe within. My words are also inspired by an essay about The Power and Responsibility of the Artist by Albert Camus where he says,
“But we the writers of the twentieth century, will no longer ever be alone. Quite the contrary: we must know that we cannot hide away from communal misery and that our sole justification, if one exists, is to speak out, as best we can, for those who cannot.”
I know I am not bold like him. My art is still not that free. Maybe one day I will see through the clouds and pluck those hidden stars. For now, I feel like being lost in those words.
Also sharing with you all stories written by the writers of Literary Impulse.