I was afraid of not growing as an artist. I didn’t think that the things I created would be worthwhile for other people. There was so much doubt inside that even the smallest mistakes had me running for the hills. I couldn’t concentrate in school for fear that I wasn’t good enough.
I’m buried with work I’d already done before and the stress is real. Things can always go for the worse. There I go again with non-simplicity. Such is life.
I knew I equated the loss of my art with loss of identity. And let you and me be honest. I balled. I cried so hard the night I found out, I almost thought there was nothing else for me.
Hey dearies, the gallery and blog posts are currently inaccessible. Due to a sudden site crash, many of my posts were lost into the abyss of 0s and 1s.