I did an awful thing yesterday. I wrote to someone to tell him that recent work he did was "terrible." There are myriad difficulties with his work, and it needs attentive criticism, but that's not what I gave him. I regret my cruelty, which was the expression of anger on my part (which I wasn't acknowledging to myself) at not only this man, but others whom I feel are guilty of certain artistic 'sins.'
My aesthetic judgment may or may not have been good in this case, but I certainly forgot that I was talking to a real human being. I regret it. I'm also mystified at myself for it. Where did my heart go?