the desert.

caught in a no-land zone;

where you're too uncomfortable in the current place,

but escaping back to the past is just too...escapist.

yet it's hard to grasp for something in the present.

it feels shallow, to try and recreate the emotions, the moments - they will never come again.

was back in the art room today.

each time i go back to that place, it only feels more distant - like a movie scene where one goes to an old playground and can hear the children's laughter from years ago, ringing in their heads.

if we try too hard to recreate the beautiful hours, reincarnate them by painting there - i think it would taste sour, bitter; the disgusting, dry flavour of tryingtoomuchness.

i guess we should revisit only in nostalgia.

but now life feels like a mere discarded shell of what it was before.

there is no point, no purpose,

no beauty.

everything feels dry and distant.

a mark on a blank surface.

sometimes encouragement comes from the least expected places.

like extended family whom you'd usually think would discourage you from pursuing such a dangerous career choice. To take up the challenge of exploring beauty in life - and making a living out of that - getting approval for it really counts for something. I am blessed.

how satisfying it is to leave a mark on a blank surface.
To make a map of my movement-
no matter how temporary.

~ blankets. | craig thompson

i hope.

you say you want
diamonds and a ring of gold,
your story to remain untold,
your love not to grow cold.

but all the promises we make, from the cradle to the grave;

when all i want is you.

the colour of the corn.

* * * * * *

So the little prince tamed the fox.

And when the time for him to leave was approaching:

"Oh!" said the fox. "I am going to cry."

"It's your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any harm; but you wanted me to tame you..."

"I know," said the fox.

"And now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.

"I know," said the fox.

"So you have gained nothing from it at all!"

"Yes, I have gained something," said the fox,

"because of the colour of the corn."

* * * * * *

~ the little prince.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

fumbling (hopefully) no more.

thank you junyu.

your gallery of work showed me beauty;

simple and honest art.

you had one, pure, sincere emotion - and you expressed that magically.

it was beautifully humbling, in one phrase.

arguably,

i've tried too hard,

thought too much,

played too carelessly.

i attempted growing a great tree without finding the proper soil.

more than ever, i feel like a little child fumbling mindlessly in a playground.

a big huge, visual arts playground.

perhaps it was necessary; it was fun whilst it lasted.

but you've pushed me further.

thanks.

the last.

one boy whistles,

the other patters paint onto his canvas.

it is the last.

let us go out quietly then.

Great No. 14

in the art room:

tonight the great race ends.

i shall complete Great No. 14 and rest easy.