Whereas the practical man suffers in order to end that suffering. The artist must continue to suffer in order to remain productive. The artist remains silent, allowing an implement to speak for their mouths. The practical man is an ocean the vastness and aestheticism are never enough the waves must crest, then crash upon the shore. Breaking a silence otherwise undisturbed.
Winter is a horrible season.
So cold as to cause one to go mad from seclusion. However, when one views a scene of night from the safe, warm confines of a room, the season appears as any other. Save when there is snow on the ground or when one touches the window. I sit in the vast confines of the studio of the artist. I am a mere observer an intruder to boot.