Sing in your own voice. Piccasso was a terrible colorist.
Turner couldn’t paint human beings worth a damn.
Saul Steinberg’s formal drafting skills were appalling.
TS Eliot had a full-time day job.
Henry Miller was a wildly uneven writer.
But that didn’t stop them, right? So I guess the next question is, “Why not?”
I have no idea.
Why should it?
– Hugh Macleod
Muyiwa Saka 