The world, for a brief moment, bent its light and painted a motionless landscape of indecisive contrast. For a tantalizing second, I felt a definite maybe. That is the best it could do for me or I just lack the courage to judge.
When the artist awakes from the dream, that sleepless tremor in the night where sweat fills in the edges of fear, what do they feel? When they break bread in the silence of a misty morning, what do they see? It is that moment which one yearns for. That moment on the edge of ecstasy where only madmen and birds of prey can breathe for the air is thin and cold. Yes, art is the proper task in life if one can still find an opening.