Hey—It’s Toffer.
I saw this kid at the art supply store last week.
Holding his phone like a shield.
Looking at the paint tubes, then his phone, then back again.
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I knew that look.
It’s the look of someone trying to make something but already wondering if it’ll get enough nods, enough hearts, enough wows.
I wanted to tell him that art doesn’t care about votes.
It isn’t a group project.
It isn’t a democracy.
Art is a fight between you and the blank. It’s a question that doesn’t always want an answer.
Conviction isn’t loud.
It’s a small, shaky whisper: This feels true to me.
That’s it.
I watched him pick the brightest orange on the shelf. His hand was trembling.
I almost clapped. But I didn’t.
He doesn’t need my clap.
Then he turned.
And I saw it.
It wasn’t a kid.
It was me.
In the glass.
Still waiting for permission.
I laughed. A little sad. A little relieved.
I paid for the orange. Walked out into the heat.
Art isn’t made by consensus.
It’s made by the part of you that says yes before the world decides if it should.
Your Friend in Time,
Toffer
P.S. I know you’re still holding that yes. If you’re ready to pick it up, join me at Artists After Hours: a course for adults who want to start making again.