The art verses the artist

The feeling which art provides is so surreal that I get goosebumps while drawing. Every stroke feels like a lifeline on which I seem to travel on. This is a journey for me, starting from a dot and ending on a whole complete art piece. If anyone of my strokes is in the wrong direction or forms an incorrect line, the whole figure comes down like a Jenga building. If such contorted strokes are increased in number, then the whole picture just turns into a dilapidated mess. The need for perfect lines is the impetus, pushing me to complete the painting like i am a devout person and my painting is my lord.

The hysterical thing is, that I love this fear, it makes me yearn for living. Like when a candle is ignited on a dark cold night, the whole scenery becomes alive. I like to embrace all the omniums parts of this journey. Even if I am quivering while my fingers are exploring the page I never want to give up. I may turn pale, i may get tired but I never want to stop my pencil from dancing on the page. Something inside me which is usually devoid of life or is sort of a void of pitch blackness gets to learn the art of living.

I won't ever actually be able to see this void obviously, but I know that this abstract feeling is delightful. The most captivating thing is the beauty of the mess that i make, even if my failed attempts which are ignored (by me), I still want to cherish it for some stupid reason. I guess that's why each one of my sketches means a lot to me, even the one's I tend to dislike holds a part of me. I mean what's art without emotion, right?

I never want to sell any of my drawings, not because of the fear that I may not attract any buyers but because I can't depart from them. My distorted sentences might be a but absurd, but they are true. It just doesn't get better than this for me