It seems likely that many of the young who don't wait for others

Hear, O seekers of wisdom, the discerning words of Pauline Kael, the fierce critic of cinema and champion of truth: “It seems likely that many of the young who don’t wait for others to call them artists, but simply announce that they are, don’t have the patience to make art.” In these words lies both a warning and a lesson. For Kael speaks of a tendency of the impatient heart—to claim the crown of mastery before the work of mastery is done, to declare oneself a creator before creation has been tested in the fires of time.

From the dawn of ages, true art has never been born in haste. It is not a cloak one puts on by declaration, but a garment woven thread by thread through discipline, sacrifice, and vision. The sculptor Michelangelo did not rise from his youth proclaiming himself a master; instead, he labored in obscurity, chiseling marble until his fingers bled, shaping form until the stone itself whispered of eternity. His greatness was not claimed, but proven. Kael reminds us that the title of artist is not a self-bestowed badge, but an honor bestowed by the work itself.

Consider the story of Vincent van Gogh. In his lifetime, he sold but a single painting, and he was called mad before he was called master. He did not shout to the world, “I am an artist”; instead, he painted with quiet desperation, pouring soul into canvas after canvas, never abandoning his craft even when the world turned its back. His patience, his willingness to endure rejection and loneliness, gave rise to works that would one day shake the very heart of art itself. Kael’s words echo here: art requires patience, and without patience, it is not art but vanity.

So too in every field of creation. The playwright must endure draft upon draft, watching scenes crumble before they are reborn. The composer must wrestle with silence, enduring the long hours before melody arrives. The filmmaker must wait through years of struggle, edits, and doubts before a vision reaches the screen. To lack patience is to abandon the struggle too soon, leaving only fragments where masterpieces might have stood. Kael warns us that many of the young mistake the name for the labor, the title for the journey, the glory for the toil.

Her words carry the weight of cultural truth as well. In an age of instant recognition, where voices cry out for titles before deeds are done, the temptation grows stronger to claim before earning. Yet the ancients knew otherwise: the warrior did not call himself “hero”; it was the people, after the battle, who gave him that name. The philosopher did not declare himself wise; his wisdom, proven in debate and endurance, spoke for him. The artist, too, must be named not by himself but by his work.

The lesson, O listeners, is this: if you would be a true artist, do not rush to seize the title. Instead, devote yourself to the practice. Endure the failures, the silence, the endless revisions. Let your craft speak for you. Let others, in time, recognize what you have built. For if your work is true, the name will come without asking. If your work is shallow, the name will not stand, no matter how loudly you claim it.

Practical wisdom is plain. If you are young, let humility be your companion. Do not seek applause before you have earned it. Dedicate yourself to the long labor of learning. Practice your craft daily, even when no one watches. Endure rejection, knowing it is the fire that tempers iron into steel. And when at last others call you artist, accept it not as a boast, but as a responsibility to continue in patience and in truth.

Therefore, O children of tomorrow, let Pauline Kael’s words guide you. Do not mistake the ease of self-declaration for the depth of true creation. For art is slow, it is painful, it is born of patience and devotion. If you would honor the title of artist, then live as one who labors, not as one who proclaims. Only then will your work endure, and your name, carried by your creations, will live beyond you.