I suppose this originally started within my college class, History of Western Arts, expanded out when I found the perfect summation in a Calvin and Hobbes strip and was fueled by Nicole's post about the whole time-traveling thing. What can I say? It inspired me to actually post something.
The question is simple really, what is art? The answer
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I'm a visual person, but I don't express myself with art. Recent epiphanies regarding my own personal path through life and art has lead me to realize very harsh truths. I'm not a visual artist. I have skillz, yes. I can paint a 40 foot mural, I can draw. But when I sit down to design a show, do you know what the first thing I do is? I write a fucking essay on the show.
I design after writing about it. I don't go home and doodle. I go home and write. I crave writing, so much so that I will stay up all hours to do it.
Which means I probably picked the wrong career. Just because I was "good" at something, did not mean I would be "happy" doing it.
Goodlord I'm rambling. Verbal diarrehea. ttfn . . .
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