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How do I turn memories of trauma into feelings of accomplishment? How do I make my mistakes beautiful? How do I reckon my past and future selves to create the person I want to be right now?

I must realize that I am

Never Better

We all have moments in our life that we grimace to look back on. For me, I’ll catch myself making audible noises when a memory pops into my head - sucking my teeth or nervously laughing. I know that my future holds a great deal of these missteps, and every day there is a chance I’ll experience one in real time.

Rather than trying to change this fact of life, I’ve instead chosen to turn these missteps into my most beautiful creations. Take a painful memory and slowly play it’s emotional strain - what does that sound like? What would you *like* it to sound like? How can this be translated into a way that your peers can relate to and learn from your experiences?

Photo by Jordan Tarrant

So I’ll draw another line right next to it. Except this time, I’ll try to replicate every little misstep. Of course, this new line has mistakes of its own, and it didn’t *quite* succeed in replicating the line before. So I’ll try again, and again, until a time-lapse of patterned mistakes grows across the page. These are exaggerations of things I got wrong - yet the steady growth that came from these mistakes is beautiful to behold. They appear “calming.”

What does that say about us?

                                   

As soon as I sing one of these songs for the first time, a transformation happens in my mind. What was once an excruciating memory of an awful experience is now a neat little piece of art that exists in the present, no matter where I am. As I go through my day, if that instance pops into my head, it now has a melody and message that propels me forward.

 

The same concept is applied on the page in my artwork. It all starts with a need for meditation, to clear my head. I’ll draw a line - and it will have all sorts of unconscious bumps and wiggles: deviations from the straight, perfect line I was attempting.

 

Sounds like life, right?

So I’ll draw another line right next to it. Except this time, I’ll try to replicate     every little misstep. Of course, this new line has mistakes of it's own, and it        didn’t *quite* succeed in replicating the line before. So I’ll try again, and         again, until a time-lapse of patterned mistakes grows across the page.              These are exaggerations of things I got wrong - yet the steady growth that          came from these mistakes is beautiful to behold. They appear “calming.”

        What does that say about us?

                                   

It says that we’re all

Never Better