Or some sort of cowardice.
You pick. But I'm over it.
I've been spending too much time living. And not recording. Experiencing. But not making use of it. Collecting. But not filtering.
I figured- What good is an artist who only makes art about art?
(Because once upon a time i was living breathing eating drinking pissing it.)
I craved expansion.
I've got a sketchbook full of invalid doodles. Drooling, half-gone, and unable to clean up after themselves.
But I've got an angle kids.
And soon you'll see proof.