I've been searching all my life...
3 years ago
It’s been in my blood, painting. For as long as I can remember, the urge to paint has periodically quelled up inside me like a firey libido, and I am compelled to go at the canvas with ferocity, just to satisfy this primal calling. When I’m done, and had a cigarette, I realize that I’m never satisfied with my work. I don’t know that a true artist ever is. But I can’t accept that. I want to paint what I feel is perfection, something I can hand to my son before I die and say “here boy, send this one through the ages, I’m outta here…”
If it takes me all my life, and I get it, then it will have been worth it. I guess it’s a little like trying to find a soulmate. But then, THAT would have to be another entry on my 43Things, right?
