The reading for today was an interesting statement on the emotional grounds faced by artists and quitters. I am glad that it was written and that the class had to read it; but all this philisophical fiddel-faddel is a bit dry and not quite my cup of tea. Why does the schmuck who wrote it have to blather on and on about doubts? For example:

“Ink wants to flow, but not across just anysurface; clay wants to hold shape, but not just any shape. And in any case, without your active participation their potential remains just that- potential. Materials are like elementary particles: charged, but indifferent. They do not listen in on your fantasies, do not get up and move in response to your idle wishes. The blunt truth is, they do precisely what your hands make them do.”

Really Mister? Is that a fact? Duh.

However, it is good to memorize,

“I’m not an artist- I am a phony

I have nothing worth saying

I’m not sure what I’m doing

Other people are better than I am

I’m only a student

I’ve never had a real exhibit

No one understands my work

I’m no good”

What the hell? This writer is a real Party-Pooper. I certainly do not approve of this jerks attitude. Whoa! This person obviously has depression issues, and I do not enjoy reading about them.

This razzel-dazzel computer thing is eazy-as-hell