i suck at art.

i blame my poor fine motor control, which also makes my handwriting like unto an illegible mass of alien hieroglyphics. i also blame the fact that i seem to lack a sense of aesthetics on a creative level, a kind of internal feng shui that says THIS shape and THIS color look good in THIS lighting and as a result my living space is cluttered, dark, chaotic, lacking both form and function.

anybody with any artistic sense or experience, having seen something i've produced, could recognize one of my other art projects a mile away; my unique terribleness is as distinct a fingerprint as the brushstrokes of a genuine Matisse. i see things i've made or painted and see every poor decision, lack of planning or precision or expertise reflected in the final product.

but i keep doing it. because i like doing it.

the act of creating art, low or high, skilled or amateur, is theraputic, and that is a value that cannot be replicated by AI.