My Passion for Art
By Uchenna Ofodile
“Artist don’t make money until they’re dead,” he said. It was a harsh though for a child to stomach, but in a one utterance my father dented my dream of being an artist. I should have cried, but I did not. I just retreated back to the safety of my room. Back to a reality of infinite possibilities.
I use to sit in my room and draw until the moon waved me to sleep. When I dreamed, my drawings came to life and I could not wait to wake up so I could draw again. I was quiet, but the pencil chronicled my internal dialogue. It narrated, while the paper listened. With each line I was transported from boredom to a majestic realm of pure amusement. I could be myself. The paper never judged, even when others did…













