You were told how much space so it was a matter of whether you

Hear the words of Lee Krasner, painter of fierce honesty and companion of giants, who once declared: “You were told how much space so it was a matter of whether you could send in two paintings or three paintings, you know, pending where the show was being held. You did submit work to be accepted. Once you were accepted that was it. You did your own selection of what went in.” Though they speak of galleries and exhibitions, they are not merely about canvases and walls. They are a parable for life itself, for the space we are given, the choices we must make, and the freedom we claim within the boundaries that surround us.

For what is this space, if not the measure of our opportunity? In art, as in life, none are granted infinite room. Each soul is told, “Here is your portion; here is the frame in which you must act.” Some are granted wide halls, others but narrow alcoves, yet all must decide what treasures to place within their allotted span. Krasner’s words remind us that acceptance into the arena is only the beginning; what we choose to place in our given space is the mark of our vision, our will, our voice.

History shows this truth with clarity. Consider the tale of Michelangelo, commissioned to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. He was given a defined, unchangeable space—rectangles of plaster bound by the architecture of Rome. He could not expand the walls, nor demand a broader sky. Yet within those limits, he created a universe: prophets and sibyls, Creation and Judgment, the very story of mankind painted above the heads of popes and pilgrims. The space was given, but the selection of what to fill it with was his, and through his choice the world was changed.

So it is with the individual life. You cannot choose the span of your years, nor the place of your birth, nor the boundaries set by time and circumstance. But within these walls, you are free to choose your work—what to create, what to pursue, what to leave behind. Some fill their days with bitterness, others with beauty. Some let the narrowness of space stifle them, while others, like Krasner, seize their chance and let their choices speak louder than their limitations.

Krasner herself knew well the struggle of limited space. As a woman among the abstract expressionists, she fought not only for wall space in the galleries of New York, but for recognition in a world that too often dismissed her voice. Yet she submitted her work, claimed her ground, and once inside, she declared: “I will decide what goes in.” She reminds us that once the gate is passed, once opportunity is granted, we must boldly fill our portion with what is most true to us, not what others expect.

The lesson, O seeker, is this: do not complain of the space you are given, but fill it with power. Do not waste time longing for halls that belong to others; use well the measure that is yours. Once the door is open—whether to a gallery, a profession, or a life’s chance—step through, and let your selection reflect your soul. For it is not the size of the canvas that matters, but the vision painted upon it.

And in your own life, remember this counsel: guard your space, choose your work, and let your selection be bold. Submit your labor to the world, and once accepted, do not yield the choice of what defines you. Fill your allotted time with that which honors your spirit. For though you cannot widen the walls of fate, you can decide what story your portion of the world shall tell.

So let Krasner’s words echo as timeless wisdom: space is given, but choice is yours. Accept the limits, yet fill them with greatness, and your life, like her art, will shine beyond the boundaries that sought to contain it.