I find myself sitting in my apartment, music playing from my lil iphone, hookah smoke surrounding me accompanied by a slight chilly breeze...and all I can think is how much I miss having a canvas. After having a weekend of friends and partying, reminiscing and laughing; I finally have my apartment to myself. My mind is running with ideas, with thoughts, and the amazing rush of inspiration. If I could paint on the walls, I would. (roommates wouldnt really appreciate it tho, haha)
Last night, the bf held my hand and then proceeded to tell me how delicate the hands of an artist were. Sure, sweet perhaps. But instead, it established this urge I have to fulfill what the title means to me. One of the greatest achievement I have accomplaished is for people to see my craft as art, and for my image to reflect one of an artist. Yet, there is so much to be placed on canvas, signatures to be placed at the edge of my work, colors to be mixed, mediums to be experimented with....the list goes on.
I havent nearly reached my peak.
Perhaps this entry in Eight is a reminder of where I stood on this day. And how I madly believe I will never let this passion diminish. This light is mine.