Pulled out a canvas that was sitting behind the TV. Wiped away a year's dust and brushed 2 coats of burnt umber upon its primed surface. Kennth Tasi looked on with a blank stare, asking dipstick questions. As I ponder over the wash like effect, I ask myself why on earth did I spend a year going ballistic over digital?
THIS IS ART! A bristle brush in my hand and a colored stained palette at my feet. What a joy it is to paint again. Or is art not supposed to be joyous but a determined struggle, where I would focus my creative anger upon Kennth Tasi and call him a charlatan?
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