I've got a lot of unfinished pictures in my sketchbooks.
Pictures are only good when they reflect feeling.
You'd think that I can reflect a little something once in a while.
Unfortunately, I couldn't tell you what goes on in my head.
I like to look at it as a book with pages ripped out.
The thing is, the only pages left have water damage.
Some of my story is legible, some of it's still unclear.
I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that.
I have to take life as it comes.
Plans fall through without reliability.
I like to consider myself reliable.
Reliability is a trait that you'd find in a perfect mind.
I'd like to know the meaning of perfection.
I've learned the art of perfection.
The art of symmetrical perfection.
And I've also learned that by being in this field, disproportion upsets me.
My artwork slides the idea of symmetry.
Every line I draw has a purpose.
The tip of my pencil tells a story through the art of imagery.
But the story falls apart without perfect illustration.
But... does perfect have a meaning?