The artist

I will never stop

I did this when I made no money. I did this when I was desperate for money. I do this now that I’m making stacks. I’ll do this until my hands crumbled into themselves.

I’m an artist. I was born an artist. I will die an artist.

It’s as much a part of my identity as my name, as my blood type, as my hair color.

It’s etched into the grey matter of my brain. It seeps from my skin like sweat on a hot day. It’s the oxygen I breathe. It’s the breath of every word I speak.

I have conquered doubts with it. I have battled demons with it. I have won and lost wars with it.

It’s been here in me. It followed me into school and distracted me. It nagged at me incessantly when I tried to be a normal 9-5’er. Even when I thought it was gone it would bubble up to the surface, popping its inevitable life back into me.

This is what it means to me to be an artist. It is not a choice. It is not an option. It’s a possessive, overwhelming force that requires a masterful mind and hand to wield its power.

I will always be this.

Forever.

Undeniably.

Me.

The artist.