The silly thing was that every amateur artistic effort known to all the amateur artists around the world amounted principally and directly to be pretty much what the Buddha was doing under the great ficus religiosa tree, or what Jesus was doing in his peripatetic and picaresque wanderings around the big lake and the towns and all the characters within them, wishing to draw to himself all the other people who too secretly were amateur artists and thinkers of different stripes and shapes and sizes.  Buddha and Jesus were nice guys, they got other people, even if their own art efforts were half-baked, shy, feeble in voice as an untrained singer trying to hit a high note.  They went amongst awkward people.   People who needed a community.  They sensed that each of them stood on the verge of a breakthrough, and with a nudge perhaps these people they, Jesus and Buddha, went amongst, could be prompted into having their own weird and beautiful artistic moment of creativity, as they were enabled to occupy the present moment with the abundant and sufficient gifts within.

Their gift was a bold one, an offering to the world of community, of taking in all sorts various and sundry, all walks of life.  And the key to this was that all the world wanted to participate, out of having their own urge and willingness to attempt something artistic, even if callow and amateur and mawkish and unpolished and perhaps even offensive to better trained ears.