Am I an Author? Are You?

Just because I write on this post, and on posts before and posts for the future, does this mean I’m an author?  Certainly not a good one, but an author at that.  Does that make you an author? Does that make my letter to my Mother when I was 5 years old a work of art?  She may think so, and probably still has it but does that make anyone with a pen an author?  Cause technically anything written, anywhere is “published”… That just makes me think.  I looked up the other day that now anyone can self publish a book, I thought wow how cool is that? but, wait, doesn’t that defeat the purpose? just because there is access doesn’t mean we should have more words floating in the air that as useless as the last.   Before I make this post just as useless, I will shut up and let you think about those words.

The Child Holds a Dream

I can’t help but think about that little girl in this museum seen way into the frame by the furthest wall in the photo.  What moment is she having? is this the moment that she decides to be an artist of some form? is this the moment where she begins her inspiration for art and its capabilities on the world and on people?  Is this the moment that she will never forget and always strives for again?  I like to think so.  Oddly enough she probably complained and argued to try and get her way to go to Chuck E Cheese today instead of a Museum cause honestly, what kid wants to go to a museum?  That’s why this girl struck me; I hope shes doing well and while on a swing at school thinking about her time at the Seattle Art Museum.