Fan of His Art

I used to believe that my thoughts descended into life forms playing a role on canvas that much more became extensions of my often untold stories -- just showed how reticent I could be. I used to paint Picasso and Da Vinci-esque masterpieces. To my consolation, I would try to see that the copycat's ability is characteristic of maestro greats and reminded myself that I just got started. I used to dream that, someday, I would have something I could call all mine. Would it ever be me at a great exhibit, them people boxing their way only to have my name handwritten on wherever they wish to?

Hmm, I don't really know the answer because I couldn't be any more artistic than I was already. The truth is, I could only do stick figures, and my favorite, if I may, worn-out drawing symbol, is a lone coconut tree on a far far away island with the waves, where I would usually put "No man is an island" right beside it. Man, it all started in high school, and it doesn't stop until now.

The real artist really, who deserves all that praise is my brother Mark Anthony. He is only 13 years old, and he's been doodling real drawings since he was 7 or 8. He is past my childhood yearning that by the way came into being through him.

Bro, keep it up! I'm a fan of yours!