Note II. Text

I would love to hug every little one who thinks they can’t do something because they feel unskilled, undereducated, or simply not very handy. Sometimes, I wonder if it would be amazing to master an instrument or learn how to operate machinery. But that's something only for a few people (like wrestling). To this day, I struggle with knowing when to get up without wasting the day. Sometimes, I don’t even manage to get to the bathroom in time. And sometimes, no one talks about the neglect of children—how parents drag them across the street, pulling them by the arm, sometimes roughly, like they’re just lifeless objects. There’s nothing wrong with discipline, but come on, don’t pull a little one by the arm like that!

A child raised like that might not be able to have lunch on time, do their own laundry, or build healthy relationships in the future. Everything feels so harsh, and there are moments when you want to start something gently, but you fail every time because it requires skill. Things just don’t behave the way you want them to. And then there's art—art and chance, and it feels kind. To me, art is a real comfort. It was like a casual encounter that said, “You can move in with me.” People even come to me for lunch. But I’ll always be judged. How can art judge me when I am actually its child? Then I look at the art in the studio, and it looks back at me, and we tug at each other's sleeves. I want to create works and build an empire, and art tells me, "Little one, this is just bullshit art!"

How can something that provides comfort also be so incredibly judgmental?