It possesses your mind and compels you to think of nothing else except finishing .. and cradling your newest delight with your time—till the broken pieces of lines and curves blossom into a completed vision.
The pinks look candied, yellows brighter than sunbursts and soft daubs of light whites are light as a clouds kiss.
Oh, how the heart bleeds when you twitch and splatter a smidgen of alien colour into another pattern. But you soothe it out soon, and train your eyes to ignore it.
And voilà, after hours of drawing, erasing, coloring, sketching, painting, splotching, layering and every now or so, holding it afar to dote on it..the drawing is done.
Click, snap Instagram. A bit on tumblr and a bit of filter, blog or choke it down your followers throats. Jam jam jam..eat my drawing assholes. Like it, comment and go mad. Say you love it, and I'll feign I don't care.
But..moments later, that masterpiece metamorphoses into another paper. The pinks are meh, yellows looks jaundiced and the light whites are so fuck I don't care. The smidgen splatter suddenly pops into your horizon like an eyesore, and you can't seem to look away from the colour wreck.
Woe is the life of a momentary magnum opus.
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