FORMER WEB
This used to be posted to my home page:
"If 'art' is not what happens in the mind of your audience, you failed."
That's what I keep written on a little piece of paper on my wall at home.
I believe in being a hungry artist. I believe in never ceasing to challenge yourself. You never stop learning unless you let yourself, and there is nothing which cannot be thrown out or sacrificed for something better in exchange. The world of art is strange to be in; at once the most useless and impractical, and also the most humanly essential.
I come from a quiet town in New Hampshire, and currently reside in Brooklyn, New York City, a Junior at Pratt Institute, pursuing a Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree in Painting. Besides the art game, I keep myself busy with a passion for comics and movies, and run a newly-founded artist's forum at Pratt, called Progression. Feel free to contact me via email, and please bear with me; the site is obviously still under construction. ||
Oh, memories, you crumple and scatter like so many sun-dried leaves on the uneven pavement. Or somesuch antiquated romanticism.
"If 'art' is not what happens in the mind of your audience, you failed."
That's what I keep written on a little piece of paper on my wall at home.
I believe in being a hungry artist. I believe in never ceasing to challenge yourself. You never stop learning unless you let yourself, and there is nothing which cannot be thrown out or sacrificed for something better in exchange. The world of art is strange to be in; at once the most useless and impractical, and also the most humanly essential.
I come from a quiet town in New Hampshire, and currently reside in Brooklyn, New York City, a Junior at Pratt Institute, pursuing a Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree in Painting. Besides the art game, I keep myself busy with a passion for comics and movies, and run a newly-founded artist's forum at Pratt, called Progression. Feel free to contact me via email, and please bear with me; the site is obviously still under construction. ||
Oh, memories, you crumple and scatter like so many sun-dried leaves on the uneven pavement. Or somesuch antiquated romanticism.