I would distinguish less between artists & non-artists, than between those who have learned self-discipline, and those who only had the forms imposed on them. This distinction is clearest, however, when the self-discipline is one that society actually frowns upon. So freedom-loving people gravitate to art, even if they have no specific talent. It's a way of definition (and sometimes a lying one--).

Artists are more mistaken about non-artists than the converse. Mainly because with them it's a religious conviction--in defiance of collective dogmas & rites. But isn't it odd how monotheists keep calling other monotheists, atheists??

Any society which does not have multiple norms, is a violent society. Perhaps the majority of all violence is thus unnoticed--or at least, blamed on something else. And then self-hatred is a natural response to self-violence--from the other side, so it's never conscious (consciously, perhaps, [as] despair--self-hatred which renders any other hatred simply a matter of fitting the right projection...

Reasoning: using the mind's patterned chatter to weave a cover for what you don't want to admit--debating on an unspoken question. Premises can be deduced, perhaps, but maybe not even his closest family can track down the source of a philosopher's system--like an ulcer into the 4th dimension--. And maybe it's something perfectly simple in his relation to the world--only it's so new it hasn't been named till now and all this is its first identification, which will later be abbreviated (so that people quote anything he said, just to bring up his name) by others when that private blight has become a plague (i am thinking of philosophers like Nietzsche whom following generations adopt as prophets for their special kind of angst)--or else it could be said simply, but for the philosopher it's too important to leave off speaking about it then, he goes on & on like a madman...
   --How is this different from art? Art also is compensation. But it's born much more of pleasure, philosophy from pain. Take away the element of play--of voluptuousness, and glamour, and pride in skill--and you might have something resembling that drab, closely woven canvas of philosophy: Art sans paint.
   When i read philosophers, it's like a squirrel cracking acorns for their kernel. I don't consider the outside as anything but impediment, certainly not from the tree's point of view. And when i start using those words, it's with no more reverence than a hermit crab moving into an empty shell. (True, some hermit crabs have made theirs a public shrine; but i've grown to dislike the smell of such places, and seek out a shell that's long uninhabited...) Considering shellcraft, i might say that to make what is to the ego's petty opinions, habits & preferences, what a cathedral is to a tin hut, it takes a much greater nakedness--or shame...(truer and falser philosophizing?)