Ciclo CCCXXI

The trembling hand that records the unfinished horse of bronze, the wax poured into forms that cools unevenly, the page that holds what the mind forgets—these are all acts of offering: the maker gives his labor to the fire, the clay, the ink, trusting that the material will remember what the hand cannot hold; but the material answers only in its own language of cracks and cooling, of fading ink and trembling script, and the third thing they are about together is not the object made or the thought written, but the vow—the silent pact between the artist and the world that something given will outlive the giver, even when the giver is wrong, even when the world answers with scrap and erasure.