blank Peices of paper are among the most intimidating specimens in the world. they seems so clean, and fresh and full of possibility. what if this piece of paper had ended up across the world in the hands of some incredible Italian artist? is it right to pollute it with my scrawny, self-conscious words, when it could be a masterpeice in the hands of a genius?
then i remember that i'm writing my thoughts, i'm writing life. and if life isn't art, then what is?
No comments:
Post a Comment