Oddly I was just reading a book yesterday where an aspiring writer was wondering whether her stories were even worth telling, and her friend sent this advice in a letter:
"...no writer or artist was ever satisfied with his masterpieces, but he did not destroy them because they were not perfect. He gave them to the world, and the world overlooked their faults, and enjoyed their points of excellence. Weeds grow in the orchard of life: but happiness is possible only when we can be content that the fruit trees outnumber the weeds."
Ok, so my paintings are not masterpieces...and so what if the man giving this wonderful advice actually killed himself later that year? It was still nice to hear, and now my crap is posted.