we each have our own ways of organizing the world .. a map in our minds, in our sleep, the treads of movement and the words we leave in parting.
some will forever see solids and shapes and put them on top of another and make something. others will see the space that surrounds it or what is in between and fill it with what was not there at the start.
as our communities grow larger in their global outreach, we find more ways to meet others alike us, see those who are not, and share what might speak to us so that others we do not know might know us in some way.
there are perhaps “safer” means of expression, some that do not walk a fine line, some that may be more discreetly understood, and some that may be more widely and well received. still, the eccentrics and those silent yet speaking will continue to make something for, i imagine, various reasons, but for a common tug that grabs the corner of all our shirts after all .. it’s simply that we must and so we do, and in doing so, we feel better, more alive, more ourselves. perhaps it is a way of dealing with the past, with the future, a way we continue ticking and getting by in the insanity of a planet that bears both great beauty and great violence. it is to feel it and to feel out the borders of bodies and the defined term of the changing word, human.
and in that experience of expressing, in both connecting, and feeling, and understanding, and letting go, and wondering why, and marveling, and weaving the light into the cracks, it is vulnerable and both longs to be shared and also never seen. it is the dialogue of something else, not the mind or the mind’s reason, not defined text or even a common shape, a sign. it is something else entirely. and when it breathes out of a page, it is often met with a rigidity that does not know where to place it.
we make art because we do. we must. we feel better because of it. we explore what we are and what we are not. we learn. and in ways that we can dictate and determine, so that we more fully trust what we find there because so few have gone, and sometimes, we are the first, a pioneer and so discover something yet unnamed and unmarred by the world, so that we can see for a moment what we might imagine to be a glimmer of truth that we can trust merely because we have happened upon it ourselves and it was not handed to us by others, unquestioned and unchanged.
it is not for everyone to understand. it is only one way of the many .. ways that we humans try to understand and try to chew on our experience. and hopefully, turn it into something better. and to know, that a piece of art, in any form, is but one very small glimpse into the artist.