Portrait of the artist as an old man.
When I was in high school I didn’t know whether I wanted to
be a writer or an artist. I loved to do
both. I was reading a lot of Joyce at
the time and writing convoluted and pretentious short stories. But drawing was like breathing to me.
So I went to RISD.
“Welcome, O life! I
go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge
in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscious of my race…Old father, old
artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead.”
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