... and exiting, a blog, I tried it before with little to no success, but this time I have watched a tutorial and I am now a master in the art of blogging. The tutorial is committed to memory where it will stay until some other piece of useless information inevitably shunts it out. My mind is a wandering place; no information is safe. So while I have the knowledge of the blog I will write and see what happens. So far this is pretty dull, but hey, you have to start somewhere.
So, to my art, my reason for writing, my reason for living, too dramatic? I thought so, scrap that. My reason for writing is my art, it is a sort of motivation to get my creative thoughts flowing and a little self-exploration and to show folk what inspires me and what I am doing with my art. I will spout my thoughts and they may not make sense but that is the price you pay, dear reader, for slipping into someone's head. Exciting, isn't it?
I am at the beginning of my art career, I say career in a totally unassuming sense as I am unsure that I will never accomplish anything with the crap that I produce on a daily basis. Such a shame, you find me at a time of blissfully self indulgent loathing for my work. This is due to the fact that I am quite sure I would produce breathtaking creations if I could reach inside my half sleeping brain and pull out the images, all framed and ready for hanging. In time, I will find a way but for now my amateurish sketching suffices my ever-present tingling itch to create. Yes, I feel like very soon I will produce work of such magnitude; stunning and mind blowing and worthwhile and I will be complete...
Dusk approaches, come gentlemen, we must find shelter.