I feel within an impulse, perhaps that divine impulse
which has moved all racesin all ages and in all climes, to record in
enduring form the emotions that stir within.
I may model these emotions in clay, carve them in wood,
hew them in stone, or capture them on film. I may weave them in textile,
paint them on canvas or voice them in song, but whichever I do I must
hearken always to the song of the lark and the melody of the forest
and stream and respond to the color of the rose and the structure of
the lily, so that my creation may be in accord with our Creator's law
and the universal laws of order, perfect fitness, and harmony.
Moreover, I must make my creation good and honest and
true so that it may be a credit to me and live after I am gone, revealing
to others something of pleasure which I have found in it's making.
Then will my creation be Art whether I am a poet or
painter, blacksmith or cobbler, for I shall have labored honestly and
lovingly in the realization of an ideal.