I have mixed feelings on blogging about myself. I don’t know whether I’m vain or in need for attention, but there’s this urge to share what comes in to my mind and the insane hope of getting some love in return. This is the behavior of a child.
Since I was said four years ago to have a mental illness for most of my life without being aware of it, sharing my emotions became even more urgent. I found myself not needy but desperate for attention and love. As time passes, I’m getting more unbearable.
Somehow I have the idea that my opinions matter, that my rubbish is valuable contribution to a better world. Knowing there’s absolutely nothing new on my epiphanies, I take refuge on aesthetics, claiming to create new items of beauty that will boost the humanity within us. I think of myself as a kickass artist.
Sharing my views and emotional processing is the chore of my art, wich I take as universal, as part of the most intimate common ground we share as human beings. It would probably be wiser to keep this apart from the promotion of my services as a professional illustrator, but I can’t find a way of achieving that. It all goes in the same package.
You’re hiring more than a drawing machine, folks. Sorry about that.