Saturday January 14, 2017
I'm ready to talk about art now. I mean, the process of making it. Pain is unquestionably a part of it. So is guilt. So is shame. My verses can't feed children and the colors I discover can't save trees, yet. If you ask me today why these 100 words matter or why the few minutes I spent lying on my bed doing my so called "movement practice" are so important, this is my best answer: It is as close to the feeling of infinity as I can get. Some may call this everlasting source "God." Today I prefer "Atabey."
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