Mary DeMuth asks what we know about writing and art, if anything. She says:

I am finally reading My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok. I wish I would’ve read it sooner. I’m halfway through the book where the young Asher Lev, an undiscovered but brilliant artist, meets with his soon-to-be mentor. This is what the mentor says to Asher:

“This is not a toy. This is not a child scrawling on a wall. This is a tradition; it is a religion, Asher Lev. You are entering a religion called painting. It has its fanatics and its rebels. And I will force you to master it. Do you hear me? No one will listen to what you have to say unless they are convinced you have mastered it. Only one who has mastered a tradition has a right to attempt to add to it or to rebel against it. Do you understand me, Asher Lev?”

Then she asks several questions I’m not qualified to answer.