You don't see all of the stuff in my art journals or sketchbooks. Some of it I keep for me.

It's private.

My every thought does not need to be shared.

Some of the stuff in those pages is dark. Some of the stuff in my head is dark. It's not pretty. It'll never be pretty. I'm not talking about it being grungy and dark so it doesn't fit the rampant aesthetic of pretty in art journals. No. That is not what I mean.

Rage isn't pretty.

Hate isn't pretty.

Confusion isn't pretty.

None of that needs to be pretty when I'm thinking it through. It's not for you.

It was never meant for you.

The beauty of an art journal is that you can close the cover.

Meditate on the rage/hate/confusion and move on with your life.

No one needs to know.

That's okay.

After you spew your issues to the world and the drama queens and gossip vultures strip you bare, leaving your bones to bleach in the sun what do you have?

Your art journal and a heavy heart.

Tell it to the page.