What if you can’t head the call when inspiration comes? What if there is some sort of inner struggle, something that has stapled down your will to create thought your soul is called to do so? The life of a true artist. It’s when you are called to do something, when you know you must create. You know you must act, you must write, must sculpt. It isn’t a question of want, of entertainment, of hobby. You wake up and realise that breathing is less important. You wake up and realise that if you don’t get this vision into the open part of you will die. In this world of necessity, this world of money and tradition, is there truly understanding for those who are called?

You enjoy painting; you’re good at painting. But if you were starving, if you were experiencing the worst day of your life, would you need to paint? Would that incredible instinct exist? What people feel for their art is like what people feel for their lover. When you’re starving, when you’re exhausted, you still think of that which you love the most. For any ‘normal person this would be a family member or a lover. This would be a tangible person with a soul and with reason to live for. But what of art? What if when your mother dies you can’t stop thinking of sculpting?

One day I woke up and realised so many of my statements had been wrong. One day I woke up loving the stage, but knowing I didn’t need it. Within the darkest hours I have experienced so far, the need to write and to sculpt have been so vivid I couldn’t bare it. So, is this need any less important that that for food or companionship? Can any one of you say that you could be, not live, but be happily if you had only your art? Can I? Can any of you know that you can live, not happily but live without it? I can. When the pull of art is so strong and you can do nothing, what does this do to your soul? Such a thing like taking a child from its mother. If I don’t exercise my inspiration, can I live?

Can you?

Can anyone?