For most of my life, I believed I wasn't an artist. My mind didn't see the world in broad strokes of color or abstract forms. Instead, it saw a logical puzzle of shapes, lines, and fine details. Quick sketches were a struggle, leading to disjointed lines and stick figures. I looked at "real" artists and their effortless talent with a mix of awe and envy.

This led me to question the very nature of art. Is art only the finished masterpiece? Or is a master's preliminary sketch art in its own right? Does an unfinished piece, a monument to a creator's struggle, hold its own value? What about using a shortcut like tracing? Does that make the final work less valid?

I've come to believe the answers don't matter as much as the purpose. A child's crayon drawing of their family is art. An actor's first performance is art. A new author's words are art. Anything that elicits an emotion or sparks a thought—that is the very essence of the human experience I now recognize as art.

My own art is a testament to this belief. It's a slow, deliberate process. I found my way to pointillism precisely because it forces me to build each piece from the ground up, one purposeful dot at a time. My drawings are not a sprint to a finish line but a marathon of millions of tiny decisions. It's a way for my logical mind to create something beautiful, to build a world with a single pen.

I don't think my work is ever truly "finished," and it's certainly not perfect. But there comes a moment when I have to put the pen down and say, "I've done what I can." I hope that what I've created brings you a little bit of joy, sparks a new thought, or perhaps inspires you to find the artist within yourself, whatever that may be.

-Joseph J. W. Hess