Autobiography as Haiku
Today, my mother dragged me upstairs. She handed me a packet of papers, the cover decorated in a highlighter landscape of dolphins jumping over the sunset. Ten years ago, my second grade self had written: “What is Art? When I paint a picture, I flow with the picture as if the background of my picture is where I am. Painting makes me feel free and very relaxed. As when I am dancing, I am in control and no one can stop me. I just love art.” Ten years later, I just received my first commission. Nothing’s really changed.
