Every so often, an artist drops off the map. While so many others clamor toward the spotlight, those already there decide one day to simply step out of it. And so Greta Garbo hides herself away, J. D. Salinger runs visitors and journalists off his woodland property, Grigori Perelman stuns the world with his mathematical insight and then disappears into the night. But there’s another version of going recluse, a version disappointingly suburban in nature: The creator who just stops creating, who fills her time with raising a family and the mundane matters of daily life. There’s no cabin in the woods, no “I want to be alone” proclamation. They remain in plain sight, they just ... stop.
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