I once was a commercial artist. I trained myself to use my talent to serve other people. I was smart, I made a living. I was hurt, I lost myself.
One day, in my hurt, my talent told me this:
The art you express is the inner world you tell yourself about. The art you make wants to come to you, it is meant to flow freely through you. You insult it by asking it to please anyone else. It is your own sweet life innocently moving from within you, presenting itself for your joy and delight. “See? I am come to you,” it says. “I am not come to be judged, approved of, critiqued, or denied by another in a world asleep. I am a simple act, a simple movement, a warm loving breath, yours to yourself. I am aliveness, expression, happiness in being. Let me out, trust yourself to let me come and show you who you are. I am not dependent on other people, not created for other people, I am your presence in utter simplicity. Do you see? I am an act of love. Love me. When you give to yourself you serve the world.”