I forgot how much I loved my art. And now it's summertime, and I'm working with the medium I've loved the most. I missed acrylic. Sure. They aren't as rich as oils. But who cares? Inspiration yells at me whenever I have a splat of paint on my leg. Next piece I'm trying is watercolor. Then oil. Then charcoal. Then chalk pastel. I'll get to the place I want to be. I owe my dump book so much.
My second painting in there happened by accident. But not really. I'm sick of feeling imperfect. So I stenciled in there.
I AM PERFECT
Everything I do in my life isn't perfect. But I can become Christlike. And that. Is perfect.
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