Death of the Artist
Death of my former self- the artist. It's a strange feeling- to mourn the loss of your own past-self, your former mode of existence. In my youth I was artistic in ways I just can't be anymore. I used to draw and sketch and paint. I was good at it. It was my preferred mode of expression. Why then, when I had to make a quick decision on what to ship to myself, did I choose to send the journals and the timeline day planner books- but not a single one of my sketchbooks? Not my art portfolio? None of my visual creations? It's been bothering me.. In the moment I had decided that the words on paper meant more to my memory than the images I had created. Now that nearly 2 years has passed, there's a part of me that regrets that decision. A part of me that can't help but mourn that loss. Now as I leaf through the pages of my day planners with the point form notes on various happenings I realize that the images that accompanied them may have been more important than I thoug...