The man struck the chisel with a hammer and stared as a large chunk of the granite sheered off. Raising the hammer over his head, he brought it down on top of the massive granite block with an angry scream. A third of the block fell to the floor. A splinter shot out and cut his hand.
He threw the hammer to the floor and stomped off. He came to a stop and stamped his foot on the floor in frustration wishing he had something else to throw. Life was not working out for him. It hadn't always been that way. Three years ago, he was a nationally recognized artist for his bronze statues. His pieces were commanding incredible prices. There were interviews in art magazines and exhibits in the best galleries where he was the star. With the fame came huge parties with attractive women and lots of champagne. Life was good.
Then, without warning, his world crumbled at his feet. His girlfriend, his high school sweetheart, had walked out on him. Even worse, she had walked away with his best friend whom he had known since childhood. Their parting shot that he was a self- involved asshole had ripped his heart out. Since that day, he hadn't been able create anything.
After a year of one creative failure after another, he had given up working with bronze and turned his attention to stone in the belief that he could work out his pain on solid rock and turn it into art. For two years, he had chiseled away at one block of stone after another. Despite working day and night, he had created nothing more impressive than piles of pebbles.
Frustrated about his art, his life, and his heart, he shook his fist at the ceiling and shouted, "Flawed. The stone is flawed. My work is flawed. I'm flawed!"
"Excuse me. Are you Dante?"
Dante spun around and looked at the young man who had spoken. Two years of working stone day and night had developed Dante's upper body to an incredible degree. He flexed to look intimidating and glared at the young man. In a gruff voice, he shouted, "Get lost kid!"
Unperturbed by the emotional outburst, the young man walked over to the block of marble and touched it. He walked around it examining the surface. After a minute, he stopped and stared at one spot on the stone. Without warning, his fist shot out and hit the block. A huge piece of marble fell to the floor. Turning to Dante, he said, "You are right about one thing. The stone is flawed. You might be right that your work is flawed, but I doubt it. You're wrong about you being flawed."
Dante stared at the chuck of stone that had fallen to the ground. The shock of what he had seen had driven away his frustration leaving him speechless. He swallowed and asked, "Who are you?"
"I'm William Redman Carter."
The name didn't mean anything to Dante. He shrugged and asked, "What do you want?"
"I want to commission you to create some bronze statues," William answered as he wandered over to an example of the man's bronze work.
Dante was afraid that he wouldn't be able to deliver on the commission. Despite needing the money, he chose to refuse the offer. In an attempt to discourage the kid as quickly as possible, he said, "Look kid, that kind of commission costs a lot of money."
"Money is no object," William answered running a hand over the smooth bronze statue. It wasn't the best work the man had done. He'd seen an excellent example of the man's work on display at the Native American College. This piece suggested that something was missing from the creative act.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"You haven't heard what I want," William countered. He turned to examine Dante and wondered why he was putting up such a fight.
"I don't do bronze work any more. I've moved onto stone." Even as he said it, he knew had been considering throwing together a couple of junk bronze statues. His agent could sell them and the money would tide him over for another year. It didn't matter if the pieces were of ducks or turtles, someone would buy it because of the residual reputation that he had.