A voice says "Cry out!"
And I said, "What shall I cry?"
And that is it, in a nutshell. That's why I write, paint, draw, sew, blog, talk, and perform most of the other tasks essential to how I conduct my life. The thing that always drives me crazy, makes me worry, makes me wonder and sometimes feel ashamed, makes me stay up all night, that makes me love and obsess and avoid -- What shall I cry? -- That's the continuous, never-silent ever-present question.
It isn't a void of inspiration, not that; I feel inspired quite a lot, though not always with my own aim in mind or to the effect I'm hoping toward.
So I sew and sew and SEW on this damned piece, this "Desire" piece, and in this act feel sometimes as though God must truly exist if for no reason other than that mere rough beauty is labor enough to achieve -- consider the lilies of the field. What sort of artistic talent can create a lily, and then breathe life into it? Never mine.
I won't let it go, though.