In 2012, I told my mom that I wanted to paint an octopus and was going to buy one at the market. What I found was a cold, petite octopus in the fish section. At the cash register, even the cashier was surprised that I owed 17 cents in total. I excitedly called my mom to tell her I had procured one, and that it only cost me under a quarter. To this she responded words that I would later think about throughout the entire process,
“Pobre criatura, ni el esfuerzo de haber nacido en un mar tan violento y peligroso.”
Which, less poetically, translates to: “that isn’t worth the effort of being born into a sea so violent and dangerous.”
And with that sadness in mind, I set out to make that life worth more than 17 cents.