My inbox will tell you that the world is full of writers who don’t write, painters who don’t paint, dancers who don’t dance. They want me to tell them something, ostensibly a secret something that will get them up and moving again, creating again. My reply is always a disappointing one: I don’t know what to tell you. Sit down, knees or buns. But then I tell them something else, too: do it for the feeling you’ll have when you’re done. Making art doesn’t have the instant payoff that most things in our modern lives do, but like all things that really matter, the big payoff is invisible and comes
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