Some people make art like glass, venting their heat against the earth until it gives way, melts and fuses, and giving it shape through the circumstances of wind and breath that brought it into being.
Some people make art like a diamond. The tension in their chest and throat just gets greater and greater until the dust in them compresses into something hard, perfect, shining, and full of facets.
Some people make art like a pearl. They take a fragment that hurt them a long time ago and coat it bit by bit until it becomes something beautiful, soft, precious, but not forgetting the sharp edges that once made it cut
I guess I’ve been all of those to one degree or another. Mostly, nowadays, I find myself making art like a bad tooth: It hurts coming out, but not as bad as it did when it was in, and after I just leave it there on my pillow and hope that somewhere out there there’s someone willing to pay for it.