I think the fact that, personally, I can’t even muster a decent stickman makes my own enthral at these artists all the more impressive for me. I mean.. just how?! Writing, usually, they do seem to say tends to take a lot of patience and head-banging off of a broken-down typewriter, etc, but I don’t really get that with it… not yet anyhow. But these are two entirely separate sorts of art forms, although, I’d simultaneously think it safe enough to say that both are pretty much working off of the same… sense of brain?! 🤷‍♂️ What I mean is that I would happily and, what’s more, pleasingly place the two types of artists side by side in a sense. I see a lot of painters who seem to wish that they could in fact write, and I sure as shit wish sometimes that I could draw. Enthralling, for sure. A pure joy to witness it unfurl firsthand, I would imagine. And while they are often than not deliriously happy… naaah, that can not possibly be true. Content at their gift and getting to use it til it crosses the like-minded line- absolutely. But it’s the… imagined… imaginings of these people which really sets my scribbles alight. Or, at least what sets my creativity in search of something to land. That all important masterpiece of literature. That’s all it is really, on a personal level. The least personal search I can imagine because all of these pieces or art are right there in my mind as I go. It’s always been anything, I mean today it was a logo name on a fella’s tracksuit pants. Safe to kinda admit I’m on a different kinda weird ass researching wavelength as I go

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