If we split practice from the real thing, neither one of them will be very real.

Play cannot be defined, because in play all definitions slither, dance, combine, break apart, and recombine.

If we split practice from the real thing, neither one of them will be very real.

Brahms once remarked that the mark of an artist is how much he throws away. Nature, the great creator, is always throwing things away. A frog lays several million eggs at a sitting. Only a few dozen of these become tadpoles, and only a few of those become frogs. We can let imagination and practice be as profligate as nature.

Creative living, or the life of a creator, seems like a leap into the unknown only because "normal life" is rigid and traumatized.

Looking at the creative process is like looking into a crystal: no matter which facet we gaze into, we see all the others reflected.

Whispered words can be devastatingly effective.