Yesterday I learned something new from photography, although it is not something you do not know of art in general. Nothing is written, everything can be done, no limits to which self sets. One is his own worst judge, beating its repressor, the strongest constraint.
I've always liked photography, art in general, but I'm the first to get the necessary barriers to do what I please, which pleases me, my eyes are always thoughtful and touchy behind my work without manufacturing. I rid myself of my prejudices, let me be as I am, waking me inoconsciente, anesthesia to my self, my ego wants to do everything perfect, without mistakes, is it my complex of correction? Always stay behind the shadow of the writer, saying "this would have done better, but not take the step to do so.
words, everything is in words. My art comes down to my mind, the accompaniment of intangible ideas. Begin to warm my cold fingers. Get them moving, exercising, to encourage the placenta agony of writing. Stop being to release the real me, not realizing the material.
I am a mother scolding, the kind that says "do not hold there, it's dirty." The worst thing is I can not give birth, I would not allow it, I is forbidden.
The first act of the play is started. You have to write the second.
