I love my art. I love it for always being there when I need a room to ease my anger, confusion and sadness. I love it for quietly holding me from falling down because of my own stupidities. I love it for making me jump out of the bed in the morning and making me just can’t wait to go home to make some more.
I love my art. I love it for showing me how powerful yet shallow I can be because it’s all in my own hands at the end. My ten nail-bitten small fingers. I love it for telling me again and again that it’s never been about material possessions or money I have in my pocket. I love it how a scissor, a tube of glue and piles of scraps could make me feel so full of life. Or your pencil, eraser and paper do to you. Maybe.
I love my art because it comes from every single side of me, myself and I. Nothing more, nothing else. And I know you love your art too. Thank you for sharing it with me and let me sharing mine with you.