Art is my everything.
Does’t that sound so cliche? I agree, but that is truly how I feel. Now, you can say I’m romantic, but I wasn’t always like this. Throughout my adolescent and teen years, I didn’t have any real feelings or thoughts of my own. You could say I was just a mindless, emotionless, and obedient robot that was easily influenced by others. You might think I’m being harsh on myself, but compared to who I was then and now, you would rightfully say the same things. It wasn’t until I discovered art that I could actually feel genuine happiness, pain, sadness, jealousy, and anger. Drawing became a passion that ran so deep that it wrecked my former self so quickly, dangerously, yet so beautifully. What i forgot to mention is that my love for art is not the giddy type, but toxic, heart wrenching, and complex. Regardless of the many times i believed art was unfit for the likes of me, the untalented, I always foolishly came back, like how any artist would.
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