You request me to choose only one word to define the entirety of who I am. Perhaps, if I had informed you about my passion in the field of visual art, you would describe me as creative, unaware that you are assembling a mousetrap. You challenge me to select a time in my seemingly minuscule existence where I occurred to be creative. I suppose I could portray the time I depicted a portrait of Melanie Martinez, not long ago. You expect me to write an anecdote on the topic. You are loading the trap with the most lavish of bait. You demand me to show, not tell. SNAP! You seem to have caught something in your trap, except it’s not a mouse; you’ve caught me dumb.
It is not in my capacity to extinguish remarkable tales about my physical creations. I am unable to show you the way I failed to capture Melanie’s angelic curls with mere letters on a page. I cannot show each jagged stroke I put into the ruffles of her sleeves solely with words arranged in an unguessable way to please you. It is helpless to try to show you how the ink bled from my marker onto unintended areas of her breast. I was directed to show how I am creative, but I seem to have been captured by your trap because all I can fathom are critiques and evidence that prove that I am not.
I suppose I resemble a rodent more than I do an artist.