Shchedryk in the Shop
Tonight's brainstorming, extemporaneous creative session (an excerpt...this went on, literally, for about six hours). Notes and progress were made, as were several pots of tea and two espressos.
Where do you think art is made? At the cocktail hour, daintily sketching notes onto a crisp white page and then closing the little notebook with a perfect verse pressed like a leaf inside? No, it is made on the chopping house floor, on the anvil and the forge. Hammered out in sweat and big messy strokes to pound out all unnecessary scrap until only the pure, true tone is heard. Hear the blacksmith's hammer ringing? See the forge reaching white heat? Ignore the blisters and soot and chisel away.
...the finish work will come later, along with the dustpans and brooms. Then you sweep together the little bits that sound nice, tie them up with a bow, and try to sell them to an unassuming public.
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