“For a time, I fancied myself an artist. I made things, and held them up to be fawned over. I demanded to know how much others loved what I had created and sought them out, shoving my creations into their attention.

Instead I received silence.

No matter what I did, how I thought that this one must be the thing that will bring me the acclaim I crave, my reward was always the same…silence.

I cursed my art, cursed my materials, cursed the ignorant that shunned me, cursed myself…and discovered that it was not enough that I simply created. Truth was I was unfit for the vacuum.

In the midst of my deepest despair, I stood in the street, holding one of my creations over a garbage can, daring myself to let go. As I strained, a part of me noticed a couple walking by, hand in hand…

then she dropped like a stone…

And my despair was meaningless in the face of true grief. I cradled my creation and shame to my heart and left.

I don’t pretend to be an artist anymore."

~excerpt from “Tales of the Invisible”