Life Cycle of Art
By Mitch Kenzo
Conception 
~The Ether~
A squeaking of the door hinge announces my arrival. The warmth in the apartment is welcoming in contrast to the cold dampness outdoors, especially after such a long day of work as I've had. My shoes come off to bring relief to these cramped feet they contained moments ago, letting me plod to my desk slowly. On comes the computer, a glowing screen allowing me access to a world within my own should I desire it... however, I am tired and uninterested. It's a reflex of mine to come home and do this, but today I feel like resting. My eyelids begin to droop as the warmth of my apartment replaces the dreaded cold of the world outside my cozy little home. Rain falls, hitting the pane of my window with a gentle patter of drops as my mind leaves the realm of conscious thought, drifting into the depths of dreams and imagination. My lids close completely, and I find myself letting my thoughts run wild. 
Random images flash across my mind's eye as it spews forth a story, one I can only understand whilst asleep. Colors and patterns mark my true descent into a land of dreams as more coherent shapes begin to appear from the darkness of the ethereal void where I find myself. It is a place of mixed emotion, one that can send me into a wondrous dream or a horrendous nightmare that will leave me sweat-drenched when I awaken. I can't help but feel that the creative powers within are going to be benevolent to me today. 
I am but a puppet in a play now, unable to move as the pieces and blocks form a body, layers upon layers of various parts coming together to form a creature which stands before me without fear or hesitation. Its poise is perfect, as it rotates before me slowly, the shape shifting to have recognizable features such as skin and fur. Soon, she is finished, and I feel a need to hold my breath in anticipation of seeing this object's face. A shy smile fluttering across its thin lips tells me that I am in no danger, even considering that this is a lioness. 
I find my viewpoint drifting round and round this wondrous creature instead of her turning for me, taking in the detailing of her tawny fur and the curvature of every perfect part of her body. She begins to move without moving, her shape appearing in other poses without any transformation or movement between each. She's waving, and now leaping to the sky with her paws outstretched to the heavens as if to capture rays of sunlight between her splayed fingers. Every detail of this lioness's body is crisp and clear to me, and I find myself intrigued without needing a reason. It feels like something is sticking in my thoughts, or rather the very experience I am having, at the same time drawing me deeper into this viewing. 
The feeling soon dulls as I am now next to her, feeling the fur covering the femme's shape. My hands move of their own accord, touching the softness here, pressing in on her stomach and feeling the warmth of her flesh radiate into my unreal hands. She is alive, and yet not as she is a part of my dreams, a concept that has cooked for an indeterminate amount of time and surfaced vividly before me, begging for recognition. The smoothness of her silken fur, and the even distribution of fat and muscle beneath her skin giving her both firmness and softness in the same place make this lioness a true beauty to my imagination. A dream though this may be, I will not be forgetting my feline friend. 
I now stand before the humanoid cat, our eyes locked and staring into one another. I can see myself in her eyes, not just as a reflection, but as a true part of my being. Oppositely, I know she sees the same, a part of her in me. She may be a thought, but were are linked by that fact as I take a pawed hand in my own, grasping and feeling the unreality that has manifested, ready to become something real.

Birth
 ~The Awakening~
My eyes flutter open, the scene of black with my model lioness in it disappearing into the ether of my deepest unconscious thoughts. However, before she recedes entirely, the seed lodged in my mind sprouts, capturing her likeness, preventing the entirety of my dream from eluding my memory. There she is, I can see her now, and she can move as I will her to in my mind. I have nothing to do this evening, and so my sketchpad comes out. Various pages are flipped through, bringing back memories of previous characters I have drawn, creatures that defy human logic, and yet exist as a consequence of my talents. 
As I find a crisp, blank page I look at my pencil and paper. Two tools, and yet letting me create... I feel as if I am a god, about to bestow my gift onto a blank world. Yet I am but human, spilling the contents of my mind upon paper. As the tip of the pencil touches down, I am in a working frenzy, a Doctor Frankenstein building my feline creature, hoping to give it life. I trace lines for her shape, completely ignoring the normalities of any and all my training as an artist. She springs forth from me, and even feels as though that is what she is doing as the vague shape of a bipedal being appears on the paper. A curve here, a line to accent another there, and yet more to bring this shape a face, ears that peek out from atop the curved head sporting a feline muzzle, that sly smile burnt onto it by my pencil just as it is ingrained in my mind.
The well-formed body of this leoine comes to me as I track the edges from my thoughts and memories of my meeting. I can remember it more vividly the more I draw, and it translates to the paper with that same life, arms, paws combined with hands, feline legs made to stand as a human, newly born unto this world and yet standing with womanly poise as I touch off the tufted tail at the end. With a few more traces, the general shaping of one lioness is complete.
I take my time to admire what lies before me as my steady hand moves back to the muzzle. Though I've made the smile already, my perfect beauty needs the rest of her face. Delicate movements touch out her eyes, and add a whispering of whiskers to her face. Her nose comes next, and I find myself hoping the graphite scent doesn't bother her too much. Of course, she can't complain, but only smile back at me.
I erase some of the lines I've made, but only just. In their place, I begin to add a lining of fur with short strokes, overlapping in some places and being more careful in others. I look away for a moment, letting my body take over as a flood of sensation overwhelms me with how the softness should look, no, should feel to my eyes. When I look back, the magic has been worked by my hands, a beauteous coat adorns the black and white female.
I find little else to do other than add the rest of her features, claws and teeth appearing as if they had been on the paper the whole time. A set of breasts appears, with plenty of fur in just the right places to keep their lovely roundness just teasing enough to eyes that will be frustrated by the lack of any mammary glands. I can feel the female desire to be admired for beauty rather than sex, though a man I may be.
Of course, at long last, this lioness's stomach is mine to draw out, shaping it with some light shading as I plan to touch it up later on. I can almost see it changing shape with the movement of her body, muscles under the coat tensing as she stretches from a long nap, elongating her form in typical catty fashion as she seeks to find comfort for her rested body. This is my specialty, as is her navel. I'm glad it protrudes from her stomach, an "imperfection" of sorts. Her imperfection is what I love though, taking the time to draw in a light pattern of fur to accent the mounded umbilicus, treating it as if it's her birth link from me, and giving it respect. Finally, it is finished. Though some would see it as a mistake, I see this lack of "true" perfection as what makes this lioness to perfect to me.

Growth 
~The Evolution~
I cradle my sketchpad in my hands, placing it with care onto my scanner. This creation of mine is about to take her first step into a new world. Everything is aligned as it must be, and the timing could not be better as I carefully press the needed button to bring my dear lioness onto the computer screen. Immediately, I remove spots and blotches from the glass that represent the dust of life with my magical tools of electrical impulses. With the click of a mouse, the behemoth of a feline blimped onto my monitor is reduced to a cat I could cradle in the palm of my hand as I gaze onward at her likeness. 
As beautiful as she is like this, she deserves so much more... A splashing of color in her fur gives her a new life. Eyes, nose, pads, mouth, they all get what they deserve... Linework is turned from patchy grey to a gradient of black and gray shades, tuned so that they will give a unique, lifelike edge to each of the lioness's features. My eyes can reflect the life coming into her, as if the color were unfreezing her body bit by bit, and the lines chiseling her free from an icy prison.
Slowly, my mouse goes over the fur more and more, softening it and interweaving different shades of tan and brown... I am working a basket with my pointer, making sure each strand is where it needs to be and the color it screams for as well. Time holds no meaning for me as I do this... Seconds may as well be hours, and yet the hours flow like a raging river. The impact is huge once I can see her whole self again, a coat gleaming in the soft light of my screen. I want to reach in and hug her, touch the bliss of that coat to feel the comfort stroking an animal brings... and yet I am not done.
Her eyes beg me to ask for permission for such things, and I notice that in their pleading, I have not given them the attention they deserve. Their depth is increased by a look of glossiness, trimmed down to be mildly shiny, but showing deep inside. I gaze, and once again I feel the connection with this lioness. In fact, when I look at her, I can feel myself within her body, her heartbeat in time with my own as we are one. I reach to the screen, letting my hand rest upon it as artificially produced heat filters into my palm. I have to do the unfortunate, finishing her. The detailing of her body is completed, from the polishing of her ivory teeth to the brushing of the fur adorning her navel bump. I feel as if I have raised her from infancy to adulthood in the space of a few hours, and as with every creature borne of another, someday the young must leave.

Death 
~The End~
I feel my heart twinge as I take my last looks at this babe upon my screen. She exists in three places at once. She is in my mind, in my book, and in my computer. However, she is no longer mine. I cannot lay claim to the beauty that has gifted itself to me, because such imagery belongs to nobody. I must share it to feel its purpose has been fulfilled, and know that she would like that end in my life as well. A portal to the internet is opened, and I feel a great emptiness in my heart as I gaze at the window on my desktop.
I do not want to give my lioness to the world. However, I must. It would be as caging a beautiful bird meant to be free to all, to spread its joy to the others on the planet. Unfortunately, she will be mine no more except in some copyright, as if she were no more than a dead dream, lost in the formless chaos of the subconscious, being destroyed and mixed about to create something else.
It is time for her to go, and I know that she agrees, painful as the parting may be. Though we may see each other again someday, I feel she will be changed, and I don't know if I like what I will see. She is her own lioness now though, and I have no right to keep her from the world she deserves. Just before I throw open the door to the World Wide Web, I realize I haven't gotten her name.
A voice speaks in my mind, tinkling and crystalline, yet earthy and rough. It commands both femininity and power, and I feel comforted by this notion, feeling that she will be all right on her own. Shanna is the name I have heard from this voice, and Shanna will she ever be. Her ticket has been given, and is punched with a click of my mouse.
Now gone, I have only the memories of the first time I met Shanna left on my desk and my screen. Both book and program are closed, a rustling of paper and a sequence of ones and zeroes forcing her nonexistence. It is now late, and I am tired, Shanna's form slipping from me. Already fatigue is drawing me to my bed as light leaves my dwelling with the flick of some switches.
I lay upon my back, head nestled into the pillow, repeating one thing in my mind... Shanna, Shanna, Shanna. Yet, she is finished, she has met her end. Tomorrow will be something new. It might be another Shanna. It might not. As I sleep, I descend into a familiar place, and thus the life cycle begins again.

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So, now for something completely different! How about some serious writing of a nature I haven't tried before? I'm obviously no artist, but I imagined a more dramatic, conscious version of the life cycle of a piece of art, from creation to completion and uploading. Do any artists ever feel like this? It's possible.