Artists are supposed to be eccentric. Right? Weird clothes, strange habits. Maybe they smoke and drink too much or are promiscuous. The right brain is teeming with unconventional personality traits. Right? Maybe. Or maybe we blend as much as the next weirdo. Maybe your babysitter, Mrs. Smith with the grey hair and sensible shoes is secretly a sculptor. Maybe the mailman with his 9-5 job working for the man likes to spend his thursday evenings at a nude figure session.
I might be a closet weirdo but I confess to taking great pleasure in offending the uptight with my green, blue, or black nail polish. And yes, I'm too old to wear those colors. Whatever that means.
