He had been young and it had thought it was an amazing chance to see the world and show off his skills.  To be chosen to do be asked to do the images had been an honor.  Well, it had been an honor, but it had a cost as well.  He had felt it deep inside with each image he had put on paper.  As it went on he had wanted to give something to those that he had witnessed killed or saw after they had died.  He wanted to honor the ones that had lived but been maimed physically, or become different themselves during the fighting.  It wasn't just creating art to him, it was showing the world about the lives he was witnessing.  And deaths.

It was also the reason that he now painted, drew, and sculpted ordinary life.  The parts of the world that are hard, but worth keeping safe and treasuring.  Those children so innocently playing in the sand on a beach or a woman putting up the laundry, an old man falling asleep on a porch with a dog sleeping at his feet or a worker sitting having a humble lunch.  Those were the images he wanted to share with the world now and so he did.  Those and the scenery that is called home to so many people but is so taken for granted.

After a moment of reflection, he nodded grim eyes coming back to the current moment.  "It started exciting, but then.... it wasn't."  He said quietly thinking of the few years when he would not pick up even a charcoal pencil or paintbrush.