The artist first puts brush to paper and endless possibilities flood immediately to the mind. The blank canvas of creation now unlocked. Following as such, the apprenticeship begins, an unbreakable loyalty to the master. Month after month, now year after year, no longer a boy, a decision now must a man make, and action, one must take; to become the shadow of the master, filling their shoes. Countless time spent in consternation across from a canvas on which you cannot escape. Correcting students’ imagination to fit a mold from whence you came. Unimportantly traversing the span of your life, to be replaced once more by the devoted apprentice raised to supplant you. To this he turned away, a canvas left half-blank, now finished in the young man’s mind. The master remained unrelenting to the end, refusing to accept the young man’s choice. This reveals truly the reason for which one must depart, ere the folly of the master become the folly of you.
The mason stacks stone to create a wall, fixed and rigid, plumb, and tight. The mortar mixed doth lay between, crafted far below, now raised stubbornly to the ramparts. A master stonecutters young hand fetches the tools at the beckon call, of the orders. Learning done is slow and inconsistent, a master more interested in the tap room than the classroom, fails to instruct and only instructs the most menial of tasks. Wherein lies the folly of the crafts lost to a passing generation.
A Warrior fights and claims his victory in battle. To his left, many of his young comrades celebrate in the victory and lament their fallen foe. To his right, a grizzled old warrior bears the burden of another battle fought to which there is no escape. An eternal mercenary. Be wary of this old man in a profession for which most die young. A thousand-yard stare does not cover the distance spanning between each fallen enemy’s final breath. The victory bell’s chime falls on the deaf ears of those who made them sing.