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An intermission, to admit to you...

I've been making more and more art and poetry, and so now, I cry every day.

I am either crying that somebody is messaging me offering helpful tips and tricks to successfully distribute my work and reach more people, or a message from someone telling me they actually like my work (MY WORK, what?!), or when a collector contacts me to purchase a painting, or when I receive a new email order for my poetry, or when I drop that poetry in the mailbox and then go sit in my car in silent disbelief.

Tears, constantly.

Is it imposter syndrome? Is it dissolving in liquid form? Most likely.

Today while watching a video of another artist, and finding myself so taken aback by the beauty of her work that I burst into tears. I sobbed for a moment. My body was catching up with me, realising that this is an actual profession–this is it–pointing out beauty for a living.

And art, is everyone.

You are art.

Your life, its celebrations, its messes, its lessons, your adventures, your curiosities, it's an art.

Art... pointing out beauty... is everyone's job.

My gosh, stand back and look at you, you masterpiece.



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