he best work of art I ever accomplished, was a painted relief in clay of a proud, ferocious eagle - spread out wings, claws stretched forward, as in the very moment before striking its prey. It was spectacular, and I loved it. So did my mother, seemingly sincerely.
      Well, it broke. Not far from crying, I collected the pieces of it, had a final look at my masterpiece - in this cut-up condition - and threw it in the garbage.
      Later, I have hundreds of times cursed myself for not simply gluing it together again. The pieces were few, it would have been an easy enough task. On the other hand, the pride and glory of my eagle could hardly have remained untainted. Maybe it was better to give it up.
     Ever since, I have had a gnawing urge to repeat that artistic feat, and this might be the motivation behind my art work. I stay away from clay, though.