What a beautiful mess I was. Ungrateful, privileged little shit living in eden and bored. I know that now and knew it then. I was still living through my art, rather than just being. Every piece brought me a little closer to my truth. I am a tough nut. Painting, therapy and journaling brought me to the brink of an existential crisis . I would look over the edge of that void and think, cool, I ought to paint that. Paint now, deal later. After all, you are lucky to be alive. Yea, yea, yea, blah, blah, blah.