Art is Magic - Alisa M. Libby

My father was an artist. When I was a child, he carved a cat's head from a block of stone. A herd of horses from a block of wood. A miniature violin so tiny that it required a magnifying glass and tweezers to string. He worked in the den, filled with wood chips and tubes of paint and Mozart on the stereo, and he would create magic. I often watched him. He would look up, startled, and find me standing there. He said I needed to wear louder shoes.

Dad and I talked a lot about art, inspiration, the elusive muse. He said it was the process of creation that we should get excited about, not just the finished product. I have to remind myself of this often, when I just want this book to be DONE, when I'm tired and frustrated and I feel like nothing is working. I need to find joy in the creative process - not just race toward some imaginary finish line. I think I knew this intuitively as a kid. I didn't just want to see what Dad had come up with - I wanted to be there when it happened.