With stacks of readings and a pen in hand, I was at a standstill. Eight hundred words into my essay and I find myself speechless. And then the inquisitive child in me surfaces and asks why I am forced to write. Why must a man bother to narrate the business of the world? Or at least do so in a climate with such burdening pressure and most intricate but exhausting detail?
And then I think of the artist, of art. If a painter were to be forced to paint, his canvas may color, but it is highly unlikely to be his masterpiece. If a lyricist were compelled to write, a song might emerge, but probably not the best he has made. If God were forced to make us, we would not be the precious creation He sees us to be. For it is not necessity that delivers art, but willful expression.
Talking from personal experience, I find that most people function better when they act freely, or when they feel that they are in control. Is this because we detest the pressures of subordination or hunger for power and authority? I think not. I think it is simply because the level of our expressiveness peaks when nothing limits or holds us back.
God has planted the seed of beauty in each person, and this seed will ripen and bloom each time one pours his very being out and shares it with the world. This is true expression. Some call it talent, others call it faculty. I believe it is just men doing what God put them in this world to do.
And now dear friend, let me excuse myself, for I need to find that seed and finish my essay.
