And this is to be expected. This is because the creative well of our collective humanity, the absolutely pure source of new material, was overdrawn a long time ago. I guess that's something I have to accept, as scary as it seems. But the more I contemplate it, the harder it is for me to think of an artist who was completely original. Bono figured it out long before I did.
Every artist is a cannibal.
Even Joyce is just a thief. Naturally there has to be some talent there too, but you can trace the roots of everything that seems novel back to something else. It's the new spin, the vigorous shaking of disparate ingredients, that catches with a blue flash and burns the house of preconception to the ground. We watch the arsonists, and find ourselves wondering where our lighters are. And even if no one else is around, I am just as content to start my own bonfire in solitude.