Im an artist. Atleast I have art in my heart. I draw paint color glue and it makes me feel good. My parents and husband look at it as childish time wasting. Maybe it is. I don't know. what I do know is Mose Toliver.. He had a raw, primitive, barebones approach to art and he is worth hundreds. What makes one mans art anther mans junk? How can what I pour hours of heat and soul into be "junk" to those closest to me , and then those who know nothing about me think its a masterpiece??

I met this guy once and he offered to sell my art in his pizza joint somewhere on the chattooga river.. I let hm do it, and he brought me several hundred dollars, and I enjoyed the money very much.. But in truth I was a little offended by what I considered him prostituting my art. I magine that sounds silly, but my art was from my heart somewhere deep, an extension of who I am, and it wasn't ever something I did for others it was something I did for me, and him taking it and putting a price tag on it and selling it felt a little like selling my soul, a lot like prostitution.. I guess it was prostitution in a sense becasue I took money for something that was an extension of myself. My thoughts my feelings my life..