When I have an idea, it’s private. It’s my very own. I work with it inside, precious and silent. If it’s unfinished, I chose carefully those I share it with. Childhood has taught me that people can be insensitive.
My work begins with a proverbial blank sheet of paper. An open thought, an idea waiting to happen. I get a glimpse of the power and the work of creation. I get a heartfelt look at the commitment it takes to invest in making something come to be. It takes gentleness. It takes time and cajoling. It takes forgiving and overcoming self-doubt.
Every idea forces me to choose my ego to give the idea legs to stand upon. Every idea mocks my arrogance at doing that. So I'm vulnerable for merely having had it.
When an unfeeling person walks by, without looking and makes a crack, about an idea he has never seen. It doesn’t matter what his intention is. His words are worthless. They're merely noise on the wind.
I know the value of what I have done. I know the beauty of the details I’ve crafted.
The idea of the future that will be so much crumpled paper is his perception of what I have made.
−me strauss Letting me be