Well now, it seems that three of my friends have updated somewhat on their art pages and I suppose since there is some activity lately maybe I'll do the same. Art has changed a great deal for me, though. Am I still an artist? That's my most recent and pressing question to myself. For years I was searching for my creative outlet. I never fancied myself a good writer. In fact, I was almost phobic of it. I've come to realize that it doesn't matter if you're good or bad. This is for me. Not for you. This is what clears my mind. See, I'm a romantic, a non-stop thinker of nonsense. I day dream constantly, even when I'm busy doing something important, a part of me is day dreaming, romanticizing, fantasizing. I also have the most incredibly weird but vivid, lucid, in depth and outlandish dreams you will ever hear. I have an uncanny ability to remember them, to a tee usually, too. So, I'm a dreamer. I found that when I find myself having these day dreams or nightmares as soon as I have a pen I'm jotting them down and they've become stories. They're not journalized as much as they're randomly put down on paper as I see it in my head; in story form. So, am I still an artist? Because I don't paint half as much as I used to. I write. I paint for you but I write for me. Painting was never about me, as I found out this past year. We'll see.