growing up, i wanted to be an artist.
i didn't know much, yet i was certain of it. why couldn't i be? i loved it and if i loved it nothing could've stopped me. i told it to everyone.
in elementary school, i was known as 'the girl who draws' and spent recesses tattooing pokemon drawings on my friends' hands.
i went to an after school where my mom held her classes in her art studio. the bookshelves in her studio overflowed with anime and pokemon books. the cardboard-aligned tables showcased color pencil graffiti that kids had drawn, physical forums in which others would find emblems of serendipity with a stranger to chat back and forth with.
i spent weekends scouring the shelves for my next victims to draw. following my mom's hand choreography day by day and drawing as if i was reciting the words of karaoke song, i mastered the art of dissecting any figure into a series of circles and lines.
then i started going off-reference, off-beat, experimenting with my own styles. adding a litter bit of flair, exaggerating the sizing, forming my own variations and creating my own formulas to fit my mood.
it must be a privilege to go do art. it's not very stable so its reserved for the wealthy. right?
we didn't have a lot of money growing up.