Outsider art with a sense of belonging
Once, when I was 8 or maybe 9, I drew a butterfly. Its wings were symmetrical, more or less. Its colors were just this side of natural. Its antennae bore a clever curve. On that day I was an artist.

Once, when I was 8 or maybe 9, I drew a butterfly. Its wings were symmetrical, more or less. Its colors were just this side of natural. Its antennae bore a clever curve. On that day I was an artist.