It seems we have found the One True Artist on this thread, the gatekeeper and judge for all that is worthy. Humble obedience in thy presence.

Why say this in such a rude way?

Found the zealot.

Is true art a hermetic endeavour which must be gate-kept to seal out the lesser folk?

If so, then why lambast the lesser folk over their ignorance of the secret knowledge?

Well, birthdays are merely symbolic of how another year's gone by and how little we've grown. No matter how desperate we are that someday a better self will emerge, with each flicker of the candles on the cake we know it's not to be. That for the rest of our sad, wretched, pathetic lives, this is who we are to the bitter end. Inevitably, irrevocably. Happy birthday? No such thing.