time ago, when I still had not reached full maturity (I was pretty much around the thirties), my host was a friend of a lot ahead of me over the years. The character in question depicted a life and was also quite said, and in fact some of his paintings have already occupied the rooms of famous museums in the world. However, in my naive spontaneity, I committed the imprudence of appeal "painter." Him if he had not recently (among other things was terribly touchy) and did not lose a moment to let me note how the term was inappropriate.
- I'm an artist - said the sting - not a painter. But maybe you do not know the difference between a painter and an artist. You know - went on air from teacher forced by circumstances to explain a universal reputation of res judicata - that a painter paints what he sells, while an artist paints what he sells.
Years later I will be seeking the problem, although in different terms. Paraphrasing
away my guest, I would say that, similarly, there is a difference between pennaiolo and a writer in the sense that the pennaiolo writes novels that sell, and sells a writer who writes novels. Pushing further the difference, you could still say that the pennaiolo writes for a living and the writer lives to write.
And who does not belong to either category?
the undersigned, for instance, does not write for a living (luckily for me) and even live to write (again for my good fortune, life has been built around a backbone that is sufficient in itself to fill it with meaning). And in fact I do not like to call myself a writer, but rather prefer to speak to me as a vehicle of ideas and feelings that are expressed through stories told.
I write to give expression to the ideas and feelings that go through me when I imagine the events, characters, scenes, dialogues.
all.
And you? You who read, do you think?
