Back in high school, we had to take art. There was a jewelry-making unit I’ll never forget for two reasons:

1. I singed all the hair off my right forearm when the blowtorch I was using decided to backfire.

2. It taught me how art works.

For starters, we drew out 26 different jewelry designs. Then we had to systematically whittle the list down into just one design that we wanted to create.

THIS WAS THE MOMENT WE WERE WAITING FOR.

Taking a design that existed on paper. Bringing it into reality through fire, metal, molding, and time.

I remember my design: an oval-shaped surfboard with indents around the edges.

But when I went to carve the mold, I noticed something interesting take place. What I was creating did not look like my drawing. Sure, it had a resemblance, but there were bits and pieces that got lost in translation between the paper and the mold.

At first it was frustrating. The vision I had for the piece *seemingly* was going off-track. The mold didn’t exactly match the drawing. The indents were more shallow than I imagined. The shape was more oblong than I drew it. Vision did not match reality.

But, after awhile, I realized this was actually the point. That’s what art does. That is art’s purpose. Art creates its own reality.

Art isn’t supposed to be nice and neat and tidy.

Art weaves it’s own path.

Art takes on a life of it’s own.

Art exists in and of itself.

(Anyone who has kids knows exactly what I’m talking about.)

It could be jewelry,

Or painting,

Or writing,

Or business.

You might be the originator of the idea, but when the idea gains life — that life becomes its own. You simply steward what didn’t exist, but now does. It came through you, but you don’t get to possess it.

And that’s how I learned about art.