Wow. What a weekend. Thanks to the consumption of highly thought-provoking party favors, I think I figured out a lot of shit. It wasn't fun, figuring it out. Not fun at all. It included a lot of self-doubt, self-realization, and self-reflection. I learned that I'm my own worst enemy, so much that so far I've been keeping myself from succeeding, while pretending that success was all I wanted. I learned that I've been using art as a distraction from reality, as opposed to focusing on art and trying to become successful at it. I questioned art. Oh god, I questioned art. I've been training myself for so long, to be only an artist. That's it. That's all. I convinced myself that when God (or whoever the powers that be) collects our reports, that I could skip over everything and hand in a pretty picture. I'm not any closer to knowing how true that is, but I do know now that one thing is true: I am an artist. One side of my brain is way more advanced than the other side. And I'm okay with that, because art is still the one thing that matters more to me than anything else. And in those 12 hours of questioning it, questioning the purpose of it, and questioning why I am the way I am, I was in Hell, because I need art to guide me, and it was gone, and I was lost. I'm shallow, and I'm fixated upon the way things look. But I don't wear makeup for a reason, because I think of art as something that not only graces the surface, but penetrates deep within everything. Everything is beautiful. And, even though it hurt me to think of myself as only an artist, it's who I am, and I wouldn't want to be any other way.
