The boy’s greatest fear was, without a doubt, being forgotten. On bad days the thought loomed over him worryingly. Dread followed him like a shadowy figure just out of eyesight on worse days. And while it was a powerful motivator, it was just as much an inhibitor. He had begun to stagnate both as an artist and as a person.
While lost in his thoughts, a stranger drew close to the sandy art exhibit. The boy quickly put on his best smile and prepared to answer the questions of yet another purveyor of his work.
“Your use of glass is interesting.” The stranger said. “I wish there was more personality though.”
The boy believed that the art he created was a manifestation of his thoughts. An interplay between his ideas and his own unique brand of creativity. So he was offended that this person suggested otherwise, he thought to himself. However he simply nodded.
The stranger continued. “Your art is good. But it’s like you’re not giving yourself the possibility of being bad. And because of that it will suffer.”
Again the boy thought to himself. His art and his thoughts were one. But it occurred to him maybe that was the reason the stranger’s rather harsh opinion made sense.
Scripted Journal 