Art and Fear

There is a book I've heard about, "Art and Fear". More than most professions, artists deal with the cold, lonely sort of fear one only discovers through deep self reflection. I second guess myself all the time. And the huge cosmic question "WHY?" often crops up. Why am I an artist? Why is anything I do valid? Why can't I create art that I am satisfied with. Perhaps the very nature of art leads artists to insanity. Or perhaps the paint fumes have something to do with it. I'm still trying to figure out how to be an artists and a normal person. The two states of being don't often seem to go together. In the past, artists have been seen as those who chose to live outside the plane of normalcy. Only then can they become impartial observers, separate from their subjects. Cool, calculating creators. This seems wrong to me. As created beings, we cannot separate from other created things. We are "stuck" in a world that is often ugly, filled with disappointment and misery. Those heaven painters among us have the hardest time, always longing for something they can never quite grasp. Insanity ensues.