Early One Morning takes time and, I mean, all things like that I

“Early One Morning takes time and, I mean, all things like that I felt were very important.” Thus spoke Anthony Caro, the sculptor who reshaped the language of modern art, giving form to iron and steel in ways that seemed at once eternal and alive. His words, though simple, conceal a profound truth: that great creation requires time, patience, and reverence for process. Caro was not speaking only of his celebrated sculpture Early One Morning but of all endeavors of spirit and craft. In this utterance he declares that the slow unfolding of creation, the measured labor that resists haste, is itself important—as vital as the work’s final form.

The origin of this saying lies in Caro’s practice as a sculptor. Early One Morning (1962) was a turning point not only in his own career but in modern art. Crafted from steel beams, painted in bold red, it rejected the pedestal, reaching directly into the space of the viewer. This revolution in form was not born in a day, nor could it have been. It required long contemplation, trial, error, and devotion. Thus, when Caro says it “takes time,” he speaks of the discipline that transforms raw material into revelation. The importance he names is not only in the sculpture itself, but in the process that shaped it.

The ancients knew this wisdom well. In the temples of Greece, stonecutters labored for decades, chiseling marble that would one day become the Parthenon. To the passerby, progress seemed slow, almost invisible. Yet each stroke of hammer and chisel carried eternity within it. The builders knew that time is the servant of greatness. So too did the poets, who often spoke of art as a slow flame, burning brighter for its patience. Caro’s words echo this timeless truth: nothing of worth comes swiftly.

History gives us another lesson in the life of Michelangelo. When asked why he labored so long on the Sistine Chapel, lying on scaffolds for years, he might have complained of exhaustion. Yet he declared, “If people knew how hard I worked to get my mastery, it wouldn’t seem so wonderful at all.” His ceiling, like Caro’s Early One Morning, was not the fruit of haste but of time honored as sacred. From this we see: the greatness of creation is not in the swiftness of its making, but in the patience that shapes it.

What lesson, then, do we take? It is this: in our own lives, whether we build art, careers, or relationships, we must learn to honor the slow work. We live in an age that worships speed, demanding instant results. But Caro’s voice reminds us that the things most “important” are those that ripen gradually. Like the growth of a tree, or the rising of the sun, true creation unfolds in its own time. To rush it is to wound it; to allow it time is to let it bloom.

Practical wisdom follows. When you labor on something meaningful, do not despair at its slowness. If the task takes months or years, let it be so. Value the process, for it shapes you as much as it shapes the work. Practice patience, persistence, and reverence for the long path. Each step is important, not only the destination. And when you face pressure to hurry, remember Caro’s voice: “It takes time.” To build something eternal, you must be willing to give it your mornings, your years, your life.

Thus, let us carry Caro’s words as a torch: “Early One Morning takes time… all things like that I felt were very important.” For he teaches us that what is slowly made is deeply made, and what is deeply made endures. Honor time, honor process, and in so doing, you will shape not only your work, but your very soul, into something that will stand long after you are gone.