There’s a wide line between the conceptual and the execution. A gap. That space between what you have in mind and the result you get. Once you touch pen to paper, or hand to metal, or – all bets are off. If a maker has a real job, not just a life of play as it may seem from the outside sill, it’s to take what’s on the bench, and the ideal he walks through the door with each time he begins again, and wed them. If years have given me any gift at all, it’s the curse of looking at all of it and wondering what it takes to tame the beast. And it is a curse. Because accepting less than what you dream about is a compromise. And the gift of the curse is that it feeds the hunger to try again, again.
All This By Hand