The pestering jack hammer and concrete bundles of snow and salt outside my window don't really help my concentration. I have never really been an emotive painter or artist. I like art and images that contain a planned complexity, symbolism, and deeper meaning that I have to work on or spend time with. When I was in college, earning my degree in Art, I regret not taking it seriously. I knew that my eye and hands were capable enough to produce an image that people would be pleased with, but I was never pleased with what I was doing. I didn't understand, and I'm still laboring to categorize and at least get a superficial understanding of the purpose-of my purpose in this. I'm writing just to let this frustration and confusion breath a little.