The truest conflict within any artist is the meaning behind their craft. Why me? Why was I gifted with this talent? This desire to created with this medium. It’s a nightmare almost that you relive over and over again. Getting it right. Getting it perfect. Perfection is unattainable, but you can’t convince yourself yet.

Then you begin to tear into yourself. Finding where the inspiration comes from. Where is leaks into your soul and takes over your blood stream. Is it fair to say that we are all artists. We are just trying to perfect our craft. Art can be beautiful and glamorous, at the same time it can be destructive and death.

Then you make peace with your demons. With your trauma you can never really outrun. Finally coming to the realization that life is so short and short delicate, you are not angry anymore counting your wounds. You let wounds heal, you stop filling graves. You are left with one thought, “Am I even going to remember this? Will I even be remembered?”.