(no subject)
How utterly bizarre.
I remember when this used to be my only consolation, my inspiration, a place I belonged.
When art did for me what I wished it to do, instead of raking miniscule tendrils of detail that go nowhere because I'm not smart enough or talented enough, or know enough... to make the big picture work.
I come back... every few years or so... and wonder how I can think so fondly on what I hated so much at the time... but god... I wish I understood then, how great things truly were.
I remember when this used to be my only consolation, my inspiration, a place I belonged.
When art did for me what I wished it to do, instead of raking miniscule tendrils of detail that go nowhere because I'm not smart enough or talented enough, or know enough... to make the big picture work.
I come back... every few years or so... and wonder how I can think so fondly on what I hated so much at the time... but god... I wish I understood then, how great things truly were.