read this yesterday:
"art is not a handicraft; it is the transmission of feeling the artist has experienced"
It tore away all the apprehension and self-doubt my last semester of oil painting seemed to instill in me. My professor taught me all the ways you should paint, all the traditional methods and what "looks good" and little by little my yearning to express myself seemed to get tied up, bound and gagged, lef to hang somewhere in my soul.
Since graduation I've been in such a weird way; unsure and not feeling the liberation I thought would have come. I think I'm relearning to breathe. Funny how the right words can make all that difference.
Maybe I'm starting my new year now and skipping Christmas because reading Tolstoy's words and rediscovering my passions feels more like Christmas than the played-out carols on the radio.