I remember the agony of my youth, having to work all day, and then having only an hour or two to spend on my art. I remember believing that this was just not enough, feeling the seconds of my life ticking by. My mind was continually turbulent as I put myself under pressure to get behind the keyboard. That pressure gave me permission, I thought, to mistreat people, manipulate situations, and generally behave horridly. I was special. I was a misunderstood artist.
Art serves life! What a powerful statement. <3