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But if you’re still not swayed, read below for our 5 reasons to never date an artist. Fourth time’s the charm though and you’re going to that underground Buddhist-Asian-burger-fusion-restaurant Karaoke-strip-club that “no one has ever heard of.” Expect to spend your entire date hearing why he is the “next big thing” in art and get used to hearing this. Sure the sex might seem like performance art itself and the parties and weird people you meet might seem exciting, but know this: you aren’t the only one.
Oh, and he’s broke so you’re going to be footing that wasabi infused dinner bill. They either got a big one or they don’t have much at all. So romantic: stretched naked in his Parisian studio as your artist boyfriend captures every curve and dimple on your body. Like the hulk, bubbling up in anger, his eyes bulge, the spit starts to fly from his lips as he screams “Va te faire foutre sale conasse! Expect a spectrum of emotions from weeping into soiled rags to five day benders where he arrives wearing half the clothing he left with and bathroom stall poetry newly tattooed on him that he felt “was a raw cry of humanity.” 3. Prepare for some shame because there’s going to be nights when your pensive and deep Van Gogh develops himself into a drunken, ear-cutting nightmare. Prepare for drama because If he isn’t choking on his own vomit after smoking opium with a bunch of Hungarian prostitutes, or overdosing on his grandmother’s thyroid pills, he’s probably thinking of throwing himself dramatically from your bedroom window (even if you only live one floor up). hide the cough syrup and put emergency on speed dial. Somewhere, someone else is having their colors swirled with your beloved Michelangelo’s brush. Really a girl named Svetlana who can tie a cherry stem with her toes. Cecelia who tastes better than any Italian Stracciatella gelato.
Artists are simply the vehicles that magnify the strangeness in humanity.
So if you’re up for a long drive down some roads you never knew existed, by all means get in that car.
If you find yourself an artist on the other side of the ego spectrum, expect tears, cheap Porto and weeks on end without seeing your reclusive artist lover come out of painting hibernation. A possible scenario: him stealing wine from the table next to you while moving a lamp around his head singing “jingle bells” in-between exclamations that he doesn’t drink milk because it makes his farts smell like dead animals. If you’re in for the long haul, remember: shit’s gonna get weird. Yes, the romantic idea of an artist trying to commit suicide because he is so desperately in love with you might be beautiful in books, but in reality turns out it’s a pain in the ass. At some point – even if he is 38 – he’s going to try to join the 27 club. That being said, in this day and age, monogamy is a varnished after-thought.
So if you’re ok with sharing your easel, the show can go on!