Why not ?

Why did I not finish Art School ? Why did I not complete my Bachelor ? I won’t pretend that those choices empowered me, nor that they were fruitful : it sometimes looks like a long road of failures watching behind my back. Was I wrong, though ? I don’t think so.

I had my kids early. Too early ? I don’t know.
I had a man crazy. That crazy ? I do not know.
I had not to work first, when the kids were tiny, then to work, work again, when they went to college ; early kids, man crazy. Or didn’t I had to ? Was those more poor choices, wrapped in some illusion of fate that I had made ?

Whatever the reasons, I have been artbroken. Down the line I never became professional. Professional… Professional ? While I’m writing this line, I cannot hold a laugh : I realize I don’t understand the concept. Maybe more : I reject. And I won’t pretend there it makes me a poet. An invalid at best.

So why not ?

Why would not I choose else ? Intuition tells me : for something in the line, for something in the pen, the pencils, the paper, the colors and the lights, the chaos that they are, a match for my whole life. And chaos isn’t why : chaos is a why not.

So I can think of whys when coming to my art, I can think of reasons why you’d be interested :
Cause you love what you see ?
Cause you feel who I am ?
Truth : I do not know why. But I think eh :

« Why not ? »

Here I am, here you are, crossing along this text despite distance and time. What comes next is a die.