It has been a while since I have touched art. And, to be honest, I do feel reminiscent of it.

On one school day night, I decided to embark on a new journey all of a sudden, to sketch out what was on my mind–no matter how absurd or how unacceptable it may seem to be in other people’s eyes.

It is a matter of disclosure, I thought. Art, though with all the potential commercial it carries, exist for a reason, a different reason for every single human being. Every single soul has its own plight that can not be easily generalized by an umbrella term or concept. Although it is true that artists do gather together for a single purpose–say, create an artistic movement together–I don’t necessarily believe that all artists identify with one single concept. It is a mystery, after all.

Recently, I have been reflecting on my own life–my internal struggle, entangled thoughts, and random echos. Art to me is like a haven where no one else can easily enter. I used to be so concerned with all the likes, popularity, and presentation on social media that I overlooked the true value that underscores the authenticity behind each piece of artwork.