The poor, struggling artist is trapped in the guilded cage by his own obsession. Blessed with every material he could ever want, staffed by the greatest assistants on spaceship earth, he nonetheless laments his life, fixating on past trauma.
And the devil gnashed: how awful it is to be successful and desired, for the critics to know all your techniques, for them to identify all of your flavours. Where is the power in that?
For him, the artist, there is now only the heat of the hellish kitchen.
"You will eat less than you desire and more than you deserve."
