introduce you to my blogging and life 
He sits in the darkness of a dying day, thoughtfully smoking as his thoughts wander away. The smoke lingers around him in thick volutes like fog banks in a deep valley.
He is getting old. When he became an apprentice, so many years ago, it seemed as though the Art was so complex and mysterious that he would never learn it. But now practicing his craft has become like talking with an old friend, exchanging secrets and sharing moods. He is on his way to becoming a Master, however only others will call him that way; he doesn’t think he could ever master nature and that’s what he is attempting to reproduce. At best, he will tame her.
His fingers and eyes are lovingly following the curves of today’s work. It’s not quite perfect yet. A sharp angle here, a nasty color there, and maybe still too much grain for his taste. He’ll get up at dawn and work on it in a new light.
For now, he feels lonely and just wishes he had someone to pass his knowledge onto. Of course his work will remain as testimony of a short passage through the world. But each piece carries a story of its own and telling that story is becoming more important to him every day.
The how of his craft is emerging in his mind as an equal to the what. He’d love to be able to stand next to each of his creations forever, telling passers-by about the hidden details, the long hours, the patient search for a better light, the infinite grinding of unnecessary edges, the sharpening of softer zones and the blurring of harder angles...
But they will have to figure it out by themselves. Or not.
They are painters, sculpters, carpenters, architects, authors, musicians, actors, photographers, gardeners, artists, craftsmen. They endlessly create - out of clay, paper, wood, ceramic, paint, ink, stone, metal, imagination, inspiration, words, ideas, dreams. It takes them hours, and days, and years. Thousands of repetive actions which nonetheless are unique in their own moment. Shutter clicks, paint smudges, chisel nudges, ink drops, torn paper, sleepness nights. These people keep the material world around us full of art and beauty. They are an antidote to the machine takeover, bringing out the best in mankind. And what a pain they can be, too...
« I had been wondering for a long time.
Date of comment: 2006-10-13 21:05 •How does he do it ?
Luck ? A good camera ? The perfect scenery or subject by chance ? A little work on his computer ?
Now I know. Now I can share the agony,
the patience and the perseverance, and most often, the frustration of creation.
Now I know the weight of tears and sleepless nights, the desperate and neverending search for perfection.
Don’t quit : we need your tender eyes, heart and soul to look at life with wonder, hope and love. »
« You make it sound like I am one of them myself. I’m not. I’m a wannabe. Not quite there yet. Sleepless nights, yes. Masterpieces, not... »
Date of comment: 2006-10-13 21:12 •« Not quite there yet ?
Date of comment: 2006-10-13 21:49 •You’re right, and you’ll never be.
There is no end to the road, happily for us, friends of a wannabe. »