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have told committees I would give up the commission rather than go against my conviction.  In one case I lost out--but then, so did the committee, who got another to carry out the inferior thing.  In all other cases they heartily came around to my point of view when they saw it executed.  No wonder they say that the only people who never gamble at Monte Carlo are artists!  Their whole life is a gamble to carry out a dream.

Well, the problem all professional women have to face is how to reconcile work with a family.  Married or single we all have some one dependent on us.  I said "work," because to the artist it is the [[underlined]] work [[/underlined]] that matters, not the"career."  I'd work in a cellar, or a desert island, if I'd seen a thing so beautiful or strange that it would give me no peace till I had set it down in form.

What then of children?  One can sacrifice oneself to one's work but not one's children--When they needed me I was there; but when they slept or played, by Jove, I worked!  When I couldn't stand at my turn-table, I drew endless studies of anatomy in bed.  The moment the need lifted, back I went to my clay.  And the children lost nothing by it:  life was flowing all around them, full of zest.  Interesting people came--bringing many languages, many ideas.  The children have the joy of life.

Hard?  Of course it's hard!  But artists are born with an inextinguishable love of life, and of the need of expressing it.  If they have nothing to express, they'd better plant potatoes, and if they can keep from being artists,