Delicate Dreams

Art is a delicate thing. When you first sketch an idea it's like a newborn bird, fumbling, fresh, unsteady, not ready to fly, and easily killed if let out of the nest too early.

The light of public scrutiny will surely burn away the idea to nothing. An artist has to protect the idea until it is robust enough to weather the spotlight of the sun.

And even then it can be smashed in the stampede. W. B. Yeats said it best.

"I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. "