I had art as a major, along with English, French and History. I

Hear, O children of the creative spirit, the remembrance of Sally Kirkland: “I had art as a major, along with English, French, and History. I had dance, modern dance. In English I was allowed to write my own poetry, which I eventually got published.” In these words we see not only the record of studies, but the unfolding of a soul drawn to many fountains of beauty and expression. Her life was nourished by the disciplines of painting, language, memory, and movement, until they converged in the act of writing poetry—an art born of all the others.

The origin of this wisdom lies in the truth that no art stands alone. Art, language, history, and dance are but branches of the same tree, rooted in the human desire to express and to preserve. Painting gives vision to the eye, history gives weight to the memory, dance gives rhythm to the body, and language gives voice to the heart. When Kirkland recalls her education, she is testifying to the power of many arts converging in one soul, each strengthening the other until she could offer her own gift of poetry to the world.

Consider the story of Leonardo da Vinci, who was not content to be painter alone, but studied anatomy, mechanics, music, and philosophy. His genius was not the product of a single craft, but the fusion of many. In the same way, Kirkland’s journey through English, French, History, and Dance did not scatter her, but deepened her, so that when she came to write her poetry, it carried the breath of languages, the memory of time, and the rhythm of the body. Her words were richer because she had walked many paths before arriving at her own.

There is also a sacred lesson in her mention of permission: “In English I was allowed to write my own poetry.” Too often, students are chained by rigid forms, forbidden to bring forth the voice of their own spirit. But Kirkland was granted the freedom to create, and in that freedom she discovered her own power. From classroom to publication, the path opened not because she imitated alone, but because she was invited to speak. This is a reminder to teachers, mentors, and guides: when you allow others to create freely, you may awaken in them a gift that endures a lifetime.

The fact that her poetry was eventually published marks the culmination of this journey, but not its true reward. For the deeper gift lies not in the book or the recognition, but in the act of creation itself, made possible by the union of her many studies. To paint, to speak in other tongues, to study the past, to dance—all these found their echo in her words. When she offered her poems to the world, she was offering more than herself; she was offering the gathered wisdom of all the arts she had embraced.

The lesson for us is clear: do not narrow your soul to a single art or discipline. Seek widely, drink deeply, and let every form of beauty shape you. For the poet who studies history writes with depth, the dancer who studies language moves with meaning, the painter who studies poetry paints with vision. When the arts intertwine, each becomes more alive. And when freedom is granted to create, the seed planted by many disciplines can finally flower.

In practice, let each seeker of beauty follow Kirkland’s example. Study widely, not only what is required, but what stirs your heart. Do not fear to cross boundaries—let painting teach your words, let dance teach your rhythm, let history teach your truth. And when the chance comes to create, seize it. Write, draw, sing, move, without waiting for perfection, for it is in practice that mastery is born. If possible, share your work with the world, not for fame, but to honor the gifts entrusted to you.

Thus the teaching endures: Sally Kirkland shows us that the soul is nourished by many arts, and that when given the freedom to create, it can bring forth its own fruit. Art, language, history, dance, and poetry are not rivals but companions, and together they shape the human spirit into something vast, radiant, and eternal. Walk this path, and your life too may become a poem written across the days, published not only in books, but in the hearts of those who witness your art.