Never Forget What It's About
It's 10 P.M. on a weekday night. I'm working on in my college's modest arts building. Dilapidated, messy, art supplies everywhere, looks like it's been repurposed 10 times. And I have it all to myself. I didn't like hanging out in my dorm room... the desk felt too cramped, and I felt like I needed psychic space to work on my art. The old drawing classroom I had a pastel piece tacked up to the wall. My art professor told me that was his favorite part, when the piece was getting close to finished he'd stand further back and just take it in. I took his advice and paced around, getting a look at it from all angles. I touched it up here and there while the acid jazz melodies of Jamiroquai played throughout the room. I was content, free of self-consciousness. This was the ZONE. That was over 10 years ago. I don't even remember what piece I was working on or if I still have it somewhere. Every so often, when I'm bored or sentimental these memories will come up....