The Parable of the Sculptor and the Model

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, when an inspiration commissions creation, is that creation art or commerce?”

Josh spoke thus:

“I am Pygmalion,” a sculptor told his model one day, “I breathe life into stone.”

“If you’re Pygmalion, who am I?” the model asked.

“You are Daphne,” the sculptor said.

“Wouldn’t that make you Apollo?” the model asked, “And wouldn’t I be laurel tree?  If you were a wood carver, I could be a tree.”

“Perhaps I am Prometheus,” the sculptor said, “I steal fire from the gods.”

“I’m fire?” the model asked.

“You’re fire to me,” the sculptor said, “You burn my fingers when I touch you.”

“Well it’s a good thing marble is so cold,” the model said, “The marble can cool you.”

“Except when the marble becomes you, it becomes fire,” the sculptor said.

“Fire cracks marble,” the model said.

“Then I am marble,” the sculptor said, “And you fracture me.”

“Not you,” the model said, laughing, “You are ice.”

“If I’m ice, then I’m ice melting,” the sculptor said.

“You are Icarus, then,” the model said.

“I fly too near the sun,” the sculptor said.

“Does the sun frighten you?” the model asked.

“The sun terrifies me,” the sculptor said, “That is why I capture the sun in the stone.  Captured in stone, the sun can’t burn me.”

“I’m not sure I like the idea of being trapped in stone,” the model said.

“Your immortality in stone is my immortality,” the sculptor said.

“What if I prefer to burn away in my mortality?” the model asked

“Then I will raise your ashes,” the sculptor said.

“You will resurrect me, like a Phoenix?” the model asked, “A phoenix in marble?”

“I will resurrect you like a soul,” the sculptor said, “A soul in marble.”

“That is blasphemy,” the model said.

“All art is blasphemy,” the sculptor said, “Creation is blasphemy.”

“Well hurry up and finish blaspheming,” the model said, “I’ve got a date.”