just artax

How to be this fucking husk anymore. I don't even know. How to go on when all your being is invalid?

I don't even try to write anymore, this unending torment of trying to improve, but all you hear are grunts of horror. The skin of the fingers of my soul is corroded. The fake mask that pulled all together is not worth relying on anymore. Even if I try to go up, all I do is slide back down because what's the point in losing all the underlying sensation of identity of oneself? All I think I am, all I thought I was, all I think I will ever be is just wrong.

Just observe because it is all I have got.

I can't even consider myself an artist now because I lack the romantic sensation I once had about the process of painting. I was more of an artist when I started to draw anatomy slops than whatever I am able to do right now. Is what I consider a never developed style.

I would need to lock in to achieve whatever my pure self was once aiming to. But to think back to giving up the study of fine arts is just something I hold onto to make excuses and just not keep trying to improve what made me happy in the first place.

When I look at my current ""finished"" paintings I just get a bittersweet feeling of wanting to do something actually good or just give up because I can only achieve bullshit currently.