Once upon a time, on the distant, sunlit island of Cyprus, there lived a man called Pygmalion. He was an immensely gifted and talented sculptor, perhaps even the best sculptor of all time. But he was also very reclusive and withdrawn. He had no friends, he didn’t really like anyone, in fact he quite despised the outside world.
He wasn’t actually conceited, it was more out of fear and insecurity. But insecurity and conceit often manifest themselves in similar ways.
So Pygmalion shut himself off from the world in his sculpture workshop and spent his days chiseling and carving. And because he was a truly excellent sculptor, he created such a beautiful world with his hands that it looked like paradise. He could sculpt everything down to the smallest detail – exotic birds, beautiful butterflies, exotic flowers, fish from the sea. Everything he carved looked so real that it seemed as though the butterflies were about to fly up into the sky, the birds ruffle their silky feathers and the flowers sway in the evening breeze. It was a world full of divine beauty, flawlessness and perfection. Pygmalion was very proud of it and of his mind that had designed it.
One day Pygmalion had the idea that he could carve a human to live in this world of his. The people out in the real world seemed so imperfect and flawed to him. He longed for the ideal, for excellence, for sheer beauty. So one morning he began to carve a woman out of stone. He chose a piece of the best marble he could get in Cyprus and chiseled and chiseled and chiseled.
He carved for many days and nights. He didn’t sleep, he didn’t eat, he didn’t drink. He was extremely…
