Who am I? What am I doing here? What is the purpose of all of this? Before you get discouraged and expect an existentialist Freud-style psychoanalysis and click off, I'll start with a selfish confession; I create because I feel I need to. There it is, the force driving me to pick up a pencil. Selfish? For so long, that's what I've told myself this is. How dare I zone out, why am I drawing stupid portraits, when I could be studying? But wait.. why is studying so hard? I should
