Nothing original

I am nothing original. Ever part of me is borrowed. I am an amalgam of borrowed ideas. Which is why I will always need something to build on. Give me an empty, and I’ll paint you nothing; but give me one with a couple of lines and a vague notion of what to paint, and I’ll paint you a Picasso. Maybe. One day, maybe.

He’s not a team player, she said – that’s what she said? I suppose it rightly appeared to her that I am not a team player; I admit that I have appeared to not want to work together. But this only happens when the person with whom I am supposed to work is incompetent; whose ideas are far flung from the purpose, whose line of thought is a rigmarole, and whose rigmaroles do not even excite or inspire. If however there is someone who can create work that impresses me, that can make me go “how did I not see that”; yes, then I shall gladly cooperate – I shall share every idea and listen to every returning one. To wit, one should never judge whether a person is or is not a team player just by his interactions with a single other person; one must investigate further, look into the ideas that traverse between the two persons and watch how they coalesce.


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