Inspiration

I was sitting at my desk, staring out the window at the cars that were driving by, when my professor walked up to me. “I see you are once again lost in thought,” he said.

“I guess,” I replied.

“What seems to be the trouble? I see you are here, yes, and you have your clay. Your skills have been growing nicely! Your sculptures – they are taking on a nice feeling of elegance and style.”

I sighed and tore my gaze away from the outside world. “I just can’t think of anything to sculpt. I’m not feeling inspired today, professor. It’s just not working.”

“But the world is full of ideas!” my professor said enthusiastically. “There is no end of things to do. In a lifetime you could not exhaust the possibilities!”

I looked at my professor skeptically. He was a small, thin man, with a bald head, round glasses, and little beady eyes. (I was always intrigued by the little beady eyes.) I had no idea how old he was but he looked older than Moses. Sometimes I wondered about his sanity – and, I’m sure, sometimes he wondered about mine.

“What are you talking about?” I said. “Everything worth doing has already been done. There have been millions of artists before me, and they’ve done everything I can think of – and probably better than I would have done it. There’s just nothing original left to say.”

He looked out the window for a few seconds and said nothing. “I see,” he said at last. He removed his glasses and started cleaning them with his pocket handkerchief. “So you are once again convinced that you are wasting your time.”

“Not exactly, professor. I just can’t think of anything to make that hasn’t already been made by someone else. There’s nothing left to be done. I don’t even know why I’m sitting here.”

The professor put his glasses back on and looked at me. It was hard to read the expression on his ancient face. After some time he spoke.

“My uncle – he is a farmer,” he began.

“You have an uncle?” I asked, surprised.

“Well, he is not my uncle, exactly. I call him that, but the relationship – it is different. He is my grandfather’s sister’s husband’s second cousin’s older brother’s son. It is a close bond that we share.”

“Ah,” I said.

“As I said, my uncle, he is a farmer. Every day he goes out and farms in the ground. Always he is growing things. When the harvest comes in he takes them to the market and sells them to the people.”

“Wonderful, professor. I’m glad it works out for him.”

“Yes, it is wonderful, but I think he is wasting his time, no? Surely he has done this before, the same thing, many times. Every year he grows crops. Every year he sells them. Every year people buy and eat them. It becomes repetitive – it is nothing new. Why do these farmers do this?”

“So people can eat, I guess,” I said. “If they didn’t grow food every year we would all starve to death.”

“Ah,” my professor said, “I see. But people have already eaten in the past, no? Why do they keep doing it again?”

I shook my head. “You’re really reaching, professor; sculpting is nothing at all like farming. You really need to brush up on your analogies. If people don’t eat then we’d starve. Food is consumed, and once it’s consumed it’s gone.”

“And these sculptures – they last forever, no? All of the sculptures that have ever existed – they still exist, yes? And all the people – they can see all of them whenever they want, no?”

“Of course not!” I said. “Everything is temporary. Things just don’t last.”

“Ah, I see. So the people – they need new things to nourish and inspire them, as the old things pass away.”

“I guess,” I said.

“And you – you are providing this nourishment! You are building things for the people – to inspire them and help them on their walk through this life. And to think that of all the sculptures on this world, some of the people choose yours. It is good, no? If they want your cooking, then why not feed them?”