Everyman starts his journey in this world as a ball of clay, some softer and some clay almost rock solid. Every type of clay however, is molded throughout time into a specific object that is supposed to be useful to the society and culture. Each piece of clay is passed around from artist to artist; from the pastor, to the teacher, to the parent, to the scientist, to the atheist, to the lover, to the rapper, to the politician, to the bartender, to the drug dealer, to the beggar on the street corner. And as the clay is being passed, each artist alters it ever so slightly until it becomes unusable and unrecognizable. Most often, the molded pieces of clay are immediately thrown into the trash pile on top of hundreds of other pottery pieces that have been deformed by the artists of this world. However, some artists hold on to different pieces of clay longer than others, putting their heart and soul into the piece, trying to form it to his specific purpose and ideal.
For a while it works, and to the artist the piece is perfect, carrying out every particular need and purpose he needs it to, but when the pot starts to crack, its tossed, just like the rest of them. So in the pile they sit and the pile gets larger and larger and the ones closer to the bottom start getting crushed but the immense weight of all the other pots above it and the cracks become larger and pieces begin to fall off and the holes start to grow.And the pots sit helpless, useless, and broken; lifeless.
At the very bottom of the pile sits a pot, its missing chunks of clay and has cracks running up and down its sides and is about to be compacted into dust by the immeasurable weight of clay sitting above it. Two hands reach into the pile and grab the pot, saving it from a life of dirt and bringing out into the light again. The new artist holds the pot in his hands and turns it around, analyzing each and every angle allowing the smooth clay to run over his dry, calloused hands and tracing his thumb along the cracks. He smiles, pleased with the condition of the pot and then takes it in one hand and smashes it on the ground, shattering the pot into pieces of every shape and size.
This new artist takes a broom and a dustpan and sweeps up every piece of the pot and then shifts out all of the dust, dirt, and grime mixed in with the pieces; he washes them off and dries them in the sun and then, ever so carefully examines each piece of the shattered pot before placing it into its perfect spot on his piece. After painstakingly organizing every last shred of the broken pot, he stands back to look at the finished mosaic, spectacular in color, awesome in detail, and meticulous in placement, and smiles, in love with this new piece just as much as he loves every other mosaic he’s ever made. Each one, unique, brilliant and breathtaking, unlike any other art ever seen before. Only the master artist can take the broken and make it into something new.