It’s always seemed to me that drawing hands is the artistic equivalent of getting punched in the nose: It hurts immediately and the pain always lasts longer than it should.

That being said, one must soldier on through the temporary blindness and somehow emerge victorious, having swung wildly in any direction in attempts to neutralize the threat at hand. I’m of the mind that obstacles are put in front of me to be conquered, and failure is simply not an option. But there’s one problem:

No one beats art.

Art is not a video game or a math problem with one definable answer; it's an endless puzzle whose pieces are made of hurdles, challenges and little victories. Are there struggles? Yes. Will I give up? UNCLE. I mean, no. I meant to say ‘no’.

There’s simply nothing left for me to do but learn from all the mistakes I’ve made, find hope in all the little successes, and keep including those gnarled meat hooks into my artwork. Because I love drawing, I love telling stories, and I’ll never stop.