With ever new color I add to the canvas I release a drop of the bottled up emotion I hold within my chest.
I paint what I feel. I paint what I see.
And it sucks.
The brush strokes are uneven
The colors don't flow
The page curls at the end from the wetness
But I paint until I cannot squeeze any more of the colored liquid from the tube.
It doesn't matter whether your lines are straight, whether your words are perfectly timed, or whether the note you belt is completely on key.
What matters most is that you give yourself completely to the art, with no restraint
Hold nothing back
And paint
