So I visited the Brandywine River Museum today

...after failing my Italian test. If only it was French. If only.
It was pretty phenomenal; I saw the works of N.C. Wyeth, Andrew Wyeth, the special Edward Gorey exhibit, Wyeth's property, studio, and props he used for his paintings. God fucking damn, his studio is insane.

That's only the corner of it. The other half has a staircase that scales up to the ceiling-- that's where he does his mural work. The artists of the past had it made.
It seems like there are so many of us now, also.
Speaking of artists of the past having it made-- art students of the past seemed to lead richer lives as well.

N.C. Wyeth wanted to paint and draw cowboys and Indians. His teacher (Howard Pyle) told him he couldn't draw what he's never seen, and so that fucker sent him out west to draw back in 1901. He actually did this twice; the second time, however, Wyeth was mugged and trapped out there until he had enough money to return back home to his fiancee.
HOW THE HELL DID THAT MAN MAKE THE BILLS TO GET BACK HERE? Well, for one, he refused to ask his father for any money (regardless of the fact that his father could afford to send his 2 other siblings to Harvard).

He hopped aboard the Pony Express and did some mustang mail delivery, god damn it.

What an exciting life for an art student.

WHY CAN'T THIS HAPPEN IN THIS ERA OF TIME.

Proverb I am obsessed with:

A dog is not reckoned good because he barks well, and a man is not reckoned wise because he speaks skillfully.

Take this into account with art-- take this into account with life.