I am listening to a beautiful piece of music composed and recorded by a friend of mine, and thinking about the process of creation. I happen to know this individual is demanding of himself and would only reveal his art once it met his standards of perfection (although I realize he is never fully satisfied).
Under normal circumstances when we view art, listen to music, read literature, we are presented with the final product. We are staggered at the fullness of the mature work, awed by the skill and soul that rendered it into its final form. It creates -- or establishes, perhaps is the better word -- a distance between us and the creator.
This leads me to my point. I am that person who wants to read nine rough drafts. I want to hear the hours of practice, of adjustments, of struggle. I want to hear the cursing, the gnashing of teeth, see the perspiration, I want to watch the clay be slung against the wall to cling for an instant before plopping to the studio floor. I want to watch the march, I want to see the sawdust fly from the blade.
Again, in this and every aspect of my life, I want to see the man behind the curtain. You may think this spoils the magic. I think it makes the magic more magical, to know that it didn't just happen with no effort. I guess that's what makes me so weird. ~~GH
[Tomorrow: Those Who Risk]
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