Constantly Growing. I do not grow absolutely, chronologically. I grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. I grow partially. I am relative. I am mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull me backward, forward, or fix me in the present. I am made up of layers, cells, constellations.
Did you know that in his later years Pablo Picasso was not allowed to roam an art gallery unattended, for he had previously been discovered in the act of trying to improve on one of his old masterpieces.
I am random. I question. I think. I live.