We paint too many pictures. We write too many stories. We sing too many songs. If art imitates life imitates art, then we’re in the wrong classrooms. We don’t need to learn how to add to the world. We’re human. We can do that on accident.
We need to learn to subtract. We need to learn to sacrifice. We need to learn to sculpt.
Our problem? We worship uncut marble. We tickle the surface with our fingertips. We brush our cheeks against the cold stone. And we agonize. Each chip a crippling existential decision. When the piece is gone, the piece is gone. Even if previous instinct yielded something beautiful.
We still freeze. We think that nothing will lead to something. Until one day, our torture tightens, and we raise our hammers and we strike.