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The canvas, the easel, the computer, the vault
— all are common. The ache that moves
through them is singular. Anyone may pick up
the same tool; few weave it into a
masterpiece. The difference is not access but
ache. A violin in every hand does not make an
orchestra. Tools are vessels; ache is the
current. The singularity of creation is not in
the medium but in the will to weave.
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