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jmbull

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This topic always reminds me of a great poem[1] by Rudyard Kipling, The Conundrum in the Workshops. Enjoy!

<snip>

When the flush of a newborn sun fell first on Eden's green and gold,

Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mold;

And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart,

Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves: "It's pretty, but is it Art?"

</snip>

[1] https://poets.org/poem/conundrum-workshops