Excerpt from Art & Soul Pam Grout www.pamgrout.com If a man wants to be sure of his road he must close his eyes and walk in the dark.”                                                                                         ---St. John of the Cross You already know how.          The first thing most of us do when we want to pursue a new art is find a class, buy a book, seek out the advice of an “expert.” While there’s certainly a time and place for outside help, that’s not the first place to turn.     When we go outside seeking direction, we create at least two hurdles. The obvious one is the time we waste. Instead of leaping in when the idea is fresh, when its voice demands to be heard, we put it off, insist that it be patient and wait until we learn how to punctuate our sentences or mix our paint. We ask this burning, passionate idea that wants nothing but to dance and scream to sit quietly outside the door and wait.     But it can’t wait. It needs to be heard now. It’s crying out today. How can you put an exploding volcano on hold? How can you tell a raging river to wait patiently while you learn what a preposition is?     Think of the idea that’s knocking on your door as small child. It can’t understand that grownups have other things to do.     “But,” you insist, “I really don’t know how. I have never written an article, let alone a book. I have never created a character, let alone a whole play. I’ve got to get help.”     This may sound like a rational plea. But I assure you, it’s only a stall tactic. Sure, your reason for waiting may seem reasonable and mature, but you’re dealing with an idea that is anything but reasonable and mature. In fact, if you do wait, it will become reasonable and mature, but then it’s too late. Who wants to see a reasonable and mature sculpture? A reasonable and mature stage play?              The juice, the gas has turned into an adult.     You can polish your skills later--after the idea that’s pounding in your skull is aired. Get it down now.     Waiting until you “know how” can take a week if you read a book, a semester if you take a class, a lifetime if you perfect a skill. By then, the idea is stiff, lifeless, nothing but a scab. It has faded like the old gingham curtains hanging in the kitchen window.     Once the fire is gone, we have a great excuse not to write it at all or if we do persist, we get discouraged by the stiffness and wonder where we missed the boat. Guess we should take another class.     It’s imperative that we answer the questions when they’re first asked. Otherwise, the question has no choice but to look elsewhere. It must find someone who has the time and the confidence to carry the torch.     Go ahead. Jump in. Get your feet wet.  Place your faith in the idea itself. Trust in the story, the dance, the painting. They have the ability to teach you anything you need to know. Within their fiery beat are the questions AND the answers. If you surrender to them, they will take you home.     Sam Shephard, who has written more than 40 plays, even won a Pulitzer prize in 1979 for his play “Buried Child,”  was 21 when he wrote his first two plays, “Cowboys” and “Rock Garden.” As a young artist living in New York, he had no formal theater training and no exposure to dramatic literature. Luckily for him, he was too young and inexperienced to question whether or not he knew how to write a play. Nobody had told him yet that people don’t write a new play every two weeks. So he did. He listened to the fierce male characters playing hopscotch in his head. If he’d have said, “Hey, guys, I hear you, but I’m kinda busy right now with this class I need to take. I’ll go to the library tomorrow and see if I can find a book,” the American theater scene would be missing 40 controversial and poignant plays. He let the characters and the plays speak. He let them teach him how.     Passion, love, that burning fire that will create your art--not the skills you learn in a book.     Pablo Neruda, the Spanish poet, always said that poetry found him. He didn’t read a how-to book. He didn’t go to college to study meter and rhyme. The poetry, he says, arrived. His only job was to walk through the portal, shake hands and invite it in.     The art form that’s calling to you has all the answers you will ever need. It wants to be your partner.     Don’t head off to the bookstore. Don’t call the college to see when the next gouache class is. Start now.