This is not Art.

Honestly, I don't think that I'm making art. I'm just painting whenever I feel like it (so, basically, always with a very few exceptions).
I think that the fact that I can’t stay social on social media (that’s a terrible sentence) makes me a worse artist. Like if I’m not recognised, then my art is worthless. Perhaps it’s even true. I make art nevertheless, and moan about its uselessness.
A cigarette burn on a cherry tree leaf. I feel bad about it. What if trees have feelings, too? I don't feel anything except for I feel bad for the tree. Does it make me a tree?
Last week’s latte. Fashionably spilled over the light blue jeans. Cold stains. Do they glow under fluorescent lights?
No idea how to finish this meaningless text. I mean, I shouldn’t have left a half-empty (half-full?) coffee cup under the back seat for weeks. Ofc, it was half-full. If it was half-empty, I wouldn’t spill the coffee over my freshly cleaned jeans while trying to clean the mess in my car. It doesn’t make sense, does it?
'Art, look, there's a balloon!' I showed my dog the balloon lying on the ground. My dog is incapable of looking with his eyes only. So two pics, before & after.
This is Art.
Art is my Belgian shepherd. Art deserves to have his own Instagram account, but he doesn't have one. That's why I'm posting his pics randomly to my personal website and to this issue.
Art's full name is Avatar, but I've come up with this shortened form exactly for the reason that people might confuse Art and art, since I'm talking a lot about both. Yes, people often confuse Art and art.
Sketchbook spreads
Was looking for open calls and one drew my attention. The titles was "Faces", ofc I misread it as "Feces". Once I realised it was about portrait art I got bored and dismissed this opportunity.
who's a good Boy
The monster under my bed was sobbing,
Coz I hadn’t fed him in a week.
I told my mum.
She gave him some rum and coke.
He died of stroke.
We buried him in the yard.
Our Saint Bernard
Had dug him out of grave.
‘Don’t you misbehave!’
Mum said. ‘We’ve run out of bread.’
Dad put his crop top
And went to the shop,
But got some beer instead. 
I put a cross on the monster’s last home.
The Saint Bernard was chewing on his bone.
‘What a family night!’ Dad cried.
‘All right, let’s play a board game!’
‘He had a tiny brain,’
I wept over the tomb.
‘No need to be upset!’ Mum yelled.
‘We’ll buy you a new freak,
And now it’s time to sleep!’

Icy roads, Cain and Abel, who killed who, lidocaine spray, frozen hears, mini bar
I'm useless!
me, too!
Serial canvas killer
Finished a demanding commissioned project and finally had some time to paint. Bought a canvas. Started enthusiastically, and everything went well until I decided to add some black outline. The black outline ruined the canvas, it looked terrible. I tried to fix it, applied more colours over the outline. Now the canvas looked pathetic. Screw it, shit happens, I thought and with a relief decided to throw away the painting.
It was midnight, imagine it. A dark, rainy night, an empty unlit street, and a creep in a long hooded raincoat crawling along the street with a large black plastic bag to a waste container.
Love is love, my sketch over a skratchable cover of the Forward Magazine
Malinois is one of the smartest dog breeds. That's why Art chases sun specs on the wall for 30 min straight. Sometimes he also attacks the carpet.
Socks with Keith Haring's dogs.