Painting

I'm trying out painting again.  Even though I am not a master artist, I put my heart into what I paint.  Some of them take years to finish.  

I like the transformative, therapeutic sensation I feel when I paint.  While writing also serves as a release and a way to organize my sometimes scattered thoughts, painting allows for an evening of temperament when I'm feeling overwhelmed and stressed.

Which is often.  I am often overwhelmed and stressed.

I don't know where any of these paintings belong.  Not in a museum because people would just laugh at them.  They would criticize my poor technique and inability to compete with true masters.  Not in a gallery because they aren't really worth much money.  Not in someone's home, because they aren't aesthetically pleasing to the eye.  

Maybe in a collective with other so-called mentally ill artists, in a special feature where some cultivated people think it's just so neat and terrific that these poor mentally ill people are just fascinating.

And entertaining.  Can't forget entertaining.