So I'll tell you a story of an artist and a sea monkey.
Once upon a time there was an artist, tall and thin, contemplative of life. A stroke of genius hidden deep behind her quiet eyes. Her dress was plain, her stride was quick, and her mind was always racing.
She had worked many jobs throughout her life, most just barely paying the bills. A day came-- and she quit.
She quit everything, except painting.
Her brush danced with color on every canvas she touched. The hues made Harmony, twisting and staccato-ing along. As days and months passed, canvases piled up, painted, neatly in a row.
The body of work was solid. She was on a path to share her paintings with the world. She tried one Gallery, then two, then every one in town. No one was interested.
Dejected she wept on a lonely park bench, when to her surprise a sea monkey appeared. The monkey asked her what was wrong, and with a brief exhalation she unfolded her experiences.
The sea monkey, squinting, began to laugh. Heartily. The artist, increasingly perplexed, sat and watched. The monkey spoke-- "fair artist, art is a game of illusion and provocation. Your paintings, no matter how good, are missing blood lust and guts."
The artists eyes widened and blinked furiously. She leapt forth and pulled the sea monkey until his head popped off. He laughed more-- she grabbed again. And again! Within seconds the sea monkey was a discombobulation of parts.
She wept, this time with evil delight, and scooped up his bits. She ran, and ran until she landed back at her studio. She smashed every wrangled piece of sea monkey into each canvas she had. She stayed up day and night until every artwork held a piece. Then she threw them. She threw them in a park, and in a subway station, in a alley, in front of a restaurant, behind a gym, in a store window. And the paintings grew, they grew when the rain hit them. They grew so tall and so wide they towered next to the tallest buildings.
The artist smiled, as she knew that she had just become the most famous artist on the planet.