You know those stories your parents tell about you when you were a kid? They tell them so often you build up synthetic memories as you revisit them over and over again. My father often tells this story about me. “I knew the kid would be alright the day he came back from school with two drawings. ‘Look what the teacher made me do.’ Blue sky, green grass. ‘Now look what I did.’ Orange sky, purple grass.” Yesterday I asked my son “Do you want realistic or solarized color?” “Messed up!” was his response.
As adults, how often do we allow ourselves such creative freedom?
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