It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do
with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere:
Self is only an idea, a mortal idea.
That which passes into everything is one thing.
It's a dream already ended.
There's nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about.
I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression,
they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away?
Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence
of mind, the vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because
it was never born."
Selected Letters 1957-1969 and is a letter he wrote to his first wife, Edie in 1957."
— Jack Kerouac (The Portable Jack Kerouac)
I am been devouring books of late about how to become an authentic artist. The biggest theme is make art, make mistakes and make a lot of both.
And the easiest part...accept uncertainty...Ok. I am fine with that one {insert super dramatic jersey shore type eye roll}
I did not like this. So I am going to do it. Here is my first. I madly used filters, super duper dodged/burned, blew highlights, just grabbed random tools in photoshop I never used and played... cropped odd and it is below.
It is the start...
