While I'm making things, I don't think about why I'm doing it. My hands move along, unaided by my heavy thoughts. I start off with a piece of paper that looks like a bird's body, and I add a neck. Then, a beak. And at last, an eyeball to add some personality. When I go back later, I sometimes have more insight into why I made certain decisions. Oh, of course, those colors are a primary palette. We're stuck in our houses, so it makes sense that I'm drawing buildings. Sometimes, I show pictures of what I'm doing to a friend, and a new insight pops up. On one of those occasions, after sending pictures of collaged faces, the friend said, you're making yourself imaginary friends. I stopped for a second, looked closely at what I was doing. Yes, that's exactly what was going on. I miss my friends, my family, even having interactions with strangers, and I was trying to say that with my art. My hands were able to tell me something that I couldn't consciously put into words.
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