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Growing up I always had a pencil in my hand and a piece of paper on an old scuffed up clipboard. I was drawing, all the time, everyday. I've gone through periods of my life when I contending with art, when I hated it, when I'd stepped away from it. It meant too much to me. Art has always been the realest part of me and that's a scary thing to grapple with... I'm not a perfect person, by far. I'm flawed. I believe that art is the physical manifestation of the artist's psyche. I struggled with my own self-worth so I hated my art. Saw only the flaws. The imperfections. As I've gotten healthier, though, and more accepting of myself, become kinder to myself, I've learned to accept my art, to be kinder to it as well. This has made all the difference...
I've fought with this recently...
I never had the opportunity to go to art school, though I absolutely wanted to. The gift of it is that it's made me a very resourceful artist! Everything I've learned about art has been trial-and-error and picking apart other peoples' art. The curse of it is that I'm almost 40 now and I'm finally coming to a place with my art that feels right. I wonder if I could have been in this place at 24 after having graduated from art school? Who knows.
Right now I'm living in Buffalo, New York, and working pretty doggedly on my graphic novel. There are still more shows I'd love to do and a line of comics I'd like to create but there is plenty of time for that later.
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