Everything is fleeting and the world is big.

Often what inspires my art are things I find or stumble upon which I deem precious. But then what occurs is a sort of "can't let go" syndrome, though what do I need a beautifully bound, out of date dictionary of geologic terms? An old photograph of two people I never knew? An empty cigar box? Why should I hold onto them when I could use them. The fear is in failing, and inevitably ruining or losing the precious treasures I've so thoughtfully collected.

While cutting and ripping a beautiful teal book I've never read and have no intention to read, I tell myself that everything is fleeting, and the world is big. What will it matter if that book survives my existence just to be thrown away or kept lonely on a shelf, no one admiring it like I do, and who is to say there aren't a million others that I would just as adoringly have and hold.

What I have learned and begrudgingly tried to accept is that sometimes in art-making, we fail. An idea in our heads will rarely live up to our expectations, and that for every masterpiece there are a hundred mediocre works and even more failed attempts. This is why I am reluctant to use my collections, but alas, I must. And I must also have faith that it will be worthwhile.

Onward we go.