I could hear the words . . ‘too bad all the others could not have been made this way.’ And the response was that this is what creativity was all about. That with each new effort there is improvement. And the creator of the art or article was encouraged with each effort.
Would it eventually be perfect? No, because each thing to be done, whether a seam or incorporation of an idea would have to be perfected. As the creator is not satisfied with his creation and the art is itself the material to be worked with a life of its own and a desire to incorporate whatever is native to it, there could not be perfection.
The last two printed fabrics I worked on, with different stretch, different designs wished for a different approach with ideas of how to use them, so I did. Not with perfection, but adequate, with the total effect pleasing.
With people, individuals, each is a new creation, a new world created. Each becomes a dreamer of his world, a new world to go spinning into space. In one of my poems last lines, ‘you are my best to be.’ I might add, for my world. As the each is the best for his world created.
With what he is, she is, no one could have done it better. Consider what they had as given, the heritages, genetic, cultural, climatological, religious, what they create, no one could do it better. There is no model upon which they create, for each is the world unto himself. And the worlds are as many as there are people.
Live and let live. I cannot criticize anymore. I know the weight of my burdens. I could not carry the weight of yours which I cannot know. But let me help you. I can do that. . . . .
Nature’s New Arrival . . .
I bent and bowed and gathered
all things to me. I sifted and sorted and
with much pain separated the grains of man.
Filing to completion, I noted the encumbrances
saddled to my Earth.
In the midst of morning I chased the night
to an empty place and began anew
to observe the travesties inclined to Nature.
She wound from her spool of variegated yarn
and proposed a multi colored libation.
We sipped together and studied closely
our inventions. We joshed and gurgled
in our cups and found our brains quite addled.
Too much too soon we disposed of
the marvelous concoction and decided. . .
she at her best was better than I, and I,
no more befuddled looked upon you and knew
you are my best to be.
art by Claudia Hallissey