3/14/2022 - Art is slipping away from me.

Art is slipping away from me.

These days and night slipping away from my youth I spent toiling over in the studio, just so later this year I can showcase this body of work I will call my passion to a stranger this fall.

There is no passion. I enjoy making art, but the satisfaction is only comparable to ticking off a long grocery list. That's what the purpose feel like; and the process? I desperate feel the need to express my flair, yet two things bothers my way: one– is this the style colleges like? And two– all my brush strokes are going to be covered by Ms. Choi's broad strokes– yes *her* strokes，not mines. As much as I have tried to file down my edges over this year, it is still very hard to swallow down the (anger?) bubbling up. I was someone who HATED any one touching my work! It's MINE not YOURS! Nevertheless, I need to constantly remind myself that this is for college. It doesn't matter what it is. What matters it that it will help me get into college. C'est seulement un chemin. Hence this dull sensation over doing art. And I hate it, I despise this dullness. I'm afraid of it; I'm afraid that the absence of a spark in my eye when I talk about painting will betray me. I hate it yet I can't risk leaving it. It feels so so sacrilegious to even put the words hate and art in the same sentence. Every time the thought evens comes up, all I see is Mr. Abreu's big, earnest eyes staring into my soul, saying, "You are an artist, Lily."

I can't. I can't. I can't afford to say no art. I've got no generous friend left, except its cousin art history that I know so little about. So what do I do about my future? What about my youth? I am ambitious and I am reclusive. I want to live in the clouds and I want to live in the grass. Ultimately I want to live with passion! I need passion, like the *francaise*. I am hungry for all kinds of experiences and feelings. But why am I stuck reviewing for APs while my fellow American classmates are in a beach house in the Bahamas, and they end up in the same place as I (if not better)? Perhaps it's a racial, cultural difference. Or rising up to a whole country's politics and economy. But that is beyond my own life's control.