My mind has always been strewn with tinder, set alight by imagination-- brilliant with flame. But art in its true practice is hardwood-- patiently carved into something fire-resistant, self-evident, semi-permanent, complete, but able to set the minds of others on fire with a single gaze.
My mind has been on fire, with art-- so much that I can hardly create. Instead I set ablaze the shavings from my intermittent attempts at carving and lean into the flames, in hopes they will burn away my need to be once again set afire.
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