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This morning, my memories, possibly traumatic, began to flow freely back to the University art building sink when I stood in wait to clean brushes. It was my second oil painting class and flash back to being shown where the sink and soap is and how to turn on the sink by the professor. As my canvases got hacked (stolen) after getting a loud complement on a hat I painted a top a normal French cafe chair, and I had to redo and restretch and regesso canvases... I remember that I had Mondrian book back then, the only thing my professor asked to borrow from me.
I woke up this morning realizing how Japanese culture has been truly erased by the west. How I have no art culture except a museum visits to Japan and catching a few performances. I pick up the brush, with this Western brainwashed soul with tears streaming from my eyes. Is this really torture?
This morning I woke to wonder