"What has become of my art? And my heart, where have I wasted it?"
-Frederic Chopin
I feel that I'm going through that same phase.
Madame Dudevant, Chopin's lover, described his composition technique as a eternal struggle in which he wouldn't leave his room for days trying to finish a piece of music. He had contracted Tuberculosis and died at 39. Before he had died, he went to Scotland and in a letter to his friend Franz Listz, he had said, "What has become of my art? And my heart, where have I wasted it?" Listz had said he wasted himself on the dream and infatuation of Madame Dudevant, forever jealous of her pen name George Sand who had published many books and was famous throughout Europe. When she left, he stood in ruin.
Today's picture is focusing on the faux-warm colour of the sky.
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