The gruff man drew smooth lines in black ink on a white page. I approached from just over his shoulder, eliciting a silent yet gruffer gruff from the man. I commented on how much I liked his drawing, his inkwork, his art. He gruffed at me.
"I'm no artist."
"Of course, of course. But tell me something. Are you happy?"
"Is anyone ever really happy?"
"You sound like an artist to me."
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment