It is Nature who makes our artists for us, though it may be Art who taught them their right mode of expression.
 - Oscar Wilde

It's more than just about art.

Really.
 
If the Toreador bare any particular curse beyond the mundane lamentations of immortality, it is that we are predisposed to having a lust for life. Beauty, after all, is something only those of the higher mental processes can truly appreciate, and thus are we "cursed" with retaining a perpetual desire to sway to the fiddle of mortal creativity.  

We try and make do with our own, of course, but after a century or two it becomes readily apparent that, barring some extravagant epiphany or inspiration, anything we create is just like anything else we've already created, and it's all very much mundane again. That's what humanity is for: our ever-changing muse. 

Trends. Ideas. Evolution. Unlife forces us to the outer edges of these things. We can mostly only observe, tangentially participate, and hope to keep up to at least feel like we're part of the flux of life. 

It may sound tedious. It is not. This is the world we live in.

The preservation of the Masquerade is wholly dependant upon our collective ability to blend in, and those of the other lines who chitter to themselves about the Toreador's focus on such things will find themselves upon the Prince's pike for Masquerade breaches far more quickly than we ever will. Assimilation through observation is a necessary survival skill for the wise predator.

But it's best not to dwell on such things too long. To do so means you've missed some change in pop culture you might otherwise be entirely able to reference at a party. The balancing act between being part of the crowd, rather than being one of those who is trying too hard, or being one of those who is clueless, is the game that gives unlife its spice. 

Game. Well.

 Call it an art, if it makes you feel better.