An older piece from a few years back. This one has that elusive magic that drives me forward. Making a living as an artist is a difficult task. More than simply earning enough to pay the bills. For me it is a calling and the core of this one and only life. I know most people don’t really understand that, even close friends.
Time relentlessly washing over, eroding and churning. I find myself surprisingly old, solitary and drifting into eccentricity. Each morning I wonder, “what kind of weirdo are you today?” Time reveals my charming weirdo ways.