A "Fuck Art" moment.
I just want to burn them all. Every notebook. Every sketch filled "journal" every single scrap I have ever even DOODLED upon. Erase it. Forever.
To Scream: LIES
And: I WILL NEVER BE A COMIC BOOK ARTIST.
Fuck Art.
"Art is what you can get angry with."
Why does that make me smile?
Why do I ask questions I know the answer to?
Did I mention I'm happy? I truly am.
Thursday, August 30
Sitting in my glasshouse
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1 comment:
Well, you can't.
Burn erase destroy lie.
All right? Because I've got some of it. And what I've got--the hapless doodles and the absolutely fucking amazing pages--they're incredible, okay?
So don't you dare. Don't you dare dishonor either of us in even thinking those thoughts.
We all have those moments, my love.
Don't forget.
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