Pablo Picasso said about the art of painting: "Matisse makes a drawing, then he makes a copy of it. He recopies it five times, ten times, always clarifying the line. He's convinced that the last, the most stripped down, is the best, the purest, the definitive one; and in fact, most of the time, it was the first. In drawing, nothing is better than the first attempt."
Robert Frost said about the art of writing: "It begins as a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness...a moment here and a moment there. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom...in a clarification of life."
In essence, the art of creating starts as a lump in the throat or a glint in the eye, a jerk in the knee or a spark in the belly, a wrench in the gut or a pinch in the heart. It is invariably referred to as a germ or a lead, a brainstorm that wouldn't leave; a Muse or an inspiration, an artist's sole excuse for being.
It is such a secret place, the land of tears, Antoine de Saint-Exupery said. You don't really know where it is coming from until it unravels. It can be the Little Prince's land of tears or some point of no return, a leisurely walk in the clouds or a mad dash up the hills, a long day's journey into night or just another day in paradise.
And it is a privilege to reside in that boundless, magical, secret place. Nothing compares to the aura that it radiates and the plethora of sensations that it kindles. The mind throbs, the flesh ripples, the heart jiggles, and the soul takes off to heights beyond belief. It is beautiful. It is free. And it is everlasting.
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