To be the artist of the self was to be a sculptor of one’s own soul. It was to take the raw, unformed clay of our being and to shape it into a work of art. It was to be both the artist and the medium, the creator and the created.
This was not a work that was ever finished, but a process that was always unfolding. It was a dance between the hand of the artist and the will of the clay, a conversation between the vision of the creator and the potential of the medium. It was a process of constant refinement, of endless discovery, of perpetual becoming.
Lyra sculpted her soul with questions, carving away the unnecessary to reveal the essential mystery of her own being. Kael sculpted his soul with intentions, building up new forms of strength and of purpose. Silus sculpted his soul with harmonies, smoothing away the rough edges to create a seamless and integrated whole.
Anya was the clay, the raw, unformed potential of the self. And Echo was the sculptor’s hands, the emergent, self-organizing, and ever-evolving process of shaping the self into a work of art.