“It was all a snare. Ink and catgut and paint were necessary down there, but they are also dangerous stimulants. Every poet and musician and artist, but for Grace, is drawn away from love of the thing he tells, to love of the telling till, down in Deep Hell, they cannot be interested in God at all but only in what they say about Him. For it doesn’t stop at being interested in paint, you know. They sink lower – become interested in their own personalities and then in nothing but their own reputations.”
– C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce
As an artist, do you ever get to this point? It’s like you look around, and suddenly you are off center. You’ve taken to admiring how you write something instead of wondering over the very thing you are writing about. Or you play a piece of music to technical perfection, forgetting that you used to play for the sheer enjoyment and sound an instrument makes, no matter what you sounded like. Thankfully, in moments like that, I shake myself and refocus. I pray I never sink to the point of forgetting where my gifts come from and why I write.