I sculpt whole works out of words,
Just as a sculptor chips a David from his marble.
I paint pictures with words,
Just as an artist uses her brush and watercolors.
I make the words flow like melodies,
Just as the songwriter at her piano.
I am like the photographer,
With his eye out to capture the shot,
Pleasing to the eye.
Like all four, I struggle continously
To create what is set on me to create.
To follow where the muse takes me.
Writing, like good art,
Is both sadness and joy
Beauty in the midst of pain
Both agony and ecstasy.
I wrote this when I was reading Irving Stone’s autobiographical novel about the great sculptor/artist/architect/poet Michelangelo. The title of the work was “The Agony and the Ecstasy.” Having watched the movie as well, this seemed very fitting. A writer in some ways is like an artist. Both have to struggle hard to depict what they’re thinking of painting/writing/sculpting out onto their mediums. I work on paper, they work on stone, canvas, or an instrument.
In the book, the author speaks of this as both Agony and Ecstasy. For while it can bring much happiness, it can also bring pain. It can feel like torture at some times, but at the same time nothing else can bring greater joy.
It really is both agony and ecstasy.