Sometimes, I am jealous of my clothing. Often it is purchased by a photographer and then whisked off to places I wish I could go.
I see the beautiful art that is made and I feel proud. But I also feel like my clothing is something separate from me.
I know some artist feel as if their art is their babies. Mine is my release.
A release of the pain, suffering, and sleeplessness that is in my soul. My drive to produce something beautiful in this ugly world…
Maybe I should not be so jealous, because I am sending my work out for others to enjoy.