Every artist worth her salt knows what I mean — either one chooses the well trodden path, platitude, sentimentality, the current orthodoxy, whatever, or one blazes a trail which is, no matter the nature of the work, part of the process of becoming.
“Lost on a fogbound spit of sand In shoes that pinched me, close at hand I heard the plash of Charon’s oar, Who ferries no one to a happy shore.”
W. H. Auden
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