Friday, September 25, 2015
This Art is Mine
My art always seems to be a useless masterpiece stained with tears and with intimidating scars, and if you look real close behind all of the curved lines that were intended to be straight, it is signed with everything thing I am. It's not great, but it's me. I constantly struggle with the thought of the way art is "supposed to look," and the way you're "supposed to make it." I am learning that those things don't exist when it comes to art. To me, art is a way of expressing myself, feelings and it's a way of life (my life). When my heart aches and I feel like I’m ready to rip my soul away from my very own chest, I make art, pointless art. When people ask me about my work I normally describe it as simple as just "me" because there's no other way to explain it. My art is everything I would describe myself as; my art is imperfect; my art is like no other; most of all, my art is pointless (in the most amazing way). I think I'll always have that voice in the back of my head that will say "You have to do this a certain way, or it'll never be 'good enough,'" but I have to remember this is my art, and this is me!
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