Reasons for doing things have always been very important to me. So much so, that at times it seems I don't do very much at all simply because I do not see any apparent point or purpose for a particular action or behavior. The one obvious thing I do do is draw and paint and stuff. The question frequently arises in my head... why? Well as much as I'd like to maintain the illusion of being a perfectly rational being and say I know the specific reason and that each picture has a particular purpose, this doesn't seem to be the case. The easiest reason I can come up with is that there is simply nothing else to do. Nothing that comes as easily, nothing that consumes so much time, nothing that better maintains the illusion of deeper meaning and worthwhileness. The reason seems to be the lacking of reason for everything else instead of a inherent reason in the creative activity itself. Now those are the rational nonreasons I use. Aside from those I suppose there is that natural urge inside to impress, move, or just affect other people in some way. In particular, and what really had the biggest effect on this picture, is the importance of my parent's opinions of my works. I suppose on some level it is a bit juvenile, but given the particularities of my upbringing, having spent so much time with only my family for company in a perpetually strange and foreign land and constantly being pushed towards some sort of cultural enrichment and expansion in the process, it does make a bit of sense. The strange thing is that upon hearing anything that borders on praise or satisfaction, the most immediate response is to say 'mission accomplished' and lose all motivation to better or improve my work in the future, feeling almost comfortable at whatever plateau I had reached to warrant such words. Luckily I forget, and the need to one up whatever work elicited that response soon returns... hopefully.