The Timeless Art of Persistence

Some of the most uniquely capable people in history have been artists. The best artists, of course, have enormous talent, but what they have most in common is their ability and willingness to persist in creating their art.

Take Matisse for instance. He knew the meaning of persistence. He painted and repainted his canvasses many times. He once said, "A master-piece is never finished, it is just abandoned." Matisse's father wanted him to be a grain merchant and a lawyer. But at the age of 21, Matisse became gravely ill. To help him pass the time, his mother gave him some paper and crayons. From that time on, all he wanted to do was paint.

Matisse could have made a good living from the government, painting church ceilings in the style of the masters, which he did for a time. Then he found he couldn't do that anymore. He had to keep doing what he did best. Even though he had a wife and three children to support, he gave up the government subsidies and persisted working day and night on his own paintings.

When Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel, he did almost all of it by himself. And he had to invent the process as he went along. To paint a fresco, you have to have wet paint and wet plaster, and you have a limited time frame in which to work. You have two hours to put down the plaster, two hours to paint, and two hours to guess what will happen to your color as it dries. So there he was—painting, plastering, and inventing 62 feet above the floor of the chapel. And he didn't do it lying on his back, as most people think. He painted reaching up to the ceiling, with the paint and plaster constantly falling in his face.

The world would be a much poorer place without the persistence and hard work of artists like these. The artists did not settle for easy paths in life. They persisted, one brush stroke at a time, until they achieved greatness.

In each age men of genius undertake the ascent. From below, the world follows them with their eyes. These men go up the mountain, enter the clouds, disappear, reappear. People watch them, mark them. They walk by the side of precipices. They daringly pursue their road. See them aloft, see them in the distance; they are but black specks. On they go. The road is uneven, its difficulties constant. At each step a wall, at each step a trap. As they rise the cold increases. They must make their ladder, cut the ice and walk on it, hewing the steps in haste. A storm is raging. Nevertheless they go forward in their madness. The air becomes difficult to breathe. The abyss yawns below them. Some fall. Others stop and retrace their steps; there is a sad weariness.

The bold ones continue. They are eyed by the eagles; the lightening plays about them; the hurricane is furious. No matter, they persevere.

—Victor Hugo,
French novelist