The imagination of each moment is only the concern to reveal, with each fresh blow of the chisel, the one and only hidden statue.
“I suppose that the coat of skins, when first devised, was the cause of such envy that he who first wore it met his death in ambush; and yet after all the pelt was torn in the struggle and completely ruined with much blood so that it could not be made of any use.“
Lucretius | On Nature