AMOR FATI PART 2 | ARTISTIC FATALISM | 28 SEPTEMBER 2025 | HYDRA, GREECE
“You’re an artist.” The same phrase, spoken at 1 a.m. in an Hydra Island bar, has echoed across dinner tables, London parks, Paris subways, and intercontinental FaceTime calls these past months. A message I hear from friends and strangers frequently these days. It was my goal, but maybe I’ve sealed my own fate. Maybe there’s no other ‘way’ for me. Nothing rooted in practicality, even less in three-dimensional reality.
I suspect it was always in my field of existential potential. To be clear, this isn’t self-congratulatory - it’s an acceptance of a potentially cruel fate, simultaneously pregnant with the potential for equal or greater beauty. What is one meant to do when all attempts at traditional or pragmatic life feel blocked or impossible, but the serendipitous artist’s path unfolds without effort, asking only for perceptiveness and engagement, almost with a sense it’s encouraging me to walk alongside it? Amid my rejection of my own artistic identity, it seems to unfold, like a universe opening in the ether - a hallucinogenic trip with no walls, only infinite doors behind doors within doors.
This has been my experience since I began a beautiful acquiescence to my art three-years ago. Even after exhaustion and recent resolutions to live more practically, it returns, stronger than ever, vivid enough to almost feel personified. And it’s no longer tied exclusively to music, but seems attached to me like a spirit walking me through this plane of existence. To trust, listen, experience - despite all practical fears - and channel what asks to be channelled.
Image: Hydra Port, Greece
