To me, darkness is light; light, darkness. As such, all boundaries are illusory, fear of trespass in a world of gates but not fences, concealment and invention at play with honesty and reality. Having disembroiled myself from the ravelled, choking maze of caution, I know not abhorrence, nor dread, nor precept. This is that latest all-risk: An I which mine is for the courage no other to be, if not danger's self. You can email me

Art deepens the mystery. Through concealment and invention, it eludes the realms of definition, identity. Honesty is but subjective definition; reality, but subjective identity. Mystery alone is objective.

Art deepens the mystery. Through concealment and invention, it eludes the realms of definition, identity. Honesty is but subjective definition; reality, but subjective identity. Mystery alone is objective.

(via terranulliuswow)

You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet, still, and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked; it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.
Franz Kafka

Art begins with risk. Our doubt is our passion; our passion, our belief. With courage, we create something that doesn’t remind us of anything else. Between the realms mystery and identity, the artist plays with concealment and honesty, invention and reality. Love lies in the mystery; beauty, the identity. When lies overwhelm, there is art. When the truth is too much to bear, there is art.


Art, like poetry, like myth, does not inform, but communicate. Art is autobiographical; interaction with it must also be autobiographical. An artist is like a man, or a woman, who wakes up too early, in the darkness, while everyone else is still sleeping, and, instead of rolling over immediately, and falling back to sleep, resists this urge, resists it, because for him or her, it is important to qualify that experience, to describe it to him or herself, to live it fully, before submitting again to sleep. Art begins at that point, that moment, when resistance overcomes submission.

Art, like poetry, like myth, does not inform, but communicate. Art is autobiographical; interaction with it must also be autobiographical. An artist is like a man, or a woman, who wakes up too early, in the darkness, while everyone else is still sleeping, and, instead of rolling over immediately, and falling back to sleep, resists this urge, resists it, because for him or her, it is important to qualify that experience, to describe it to him or herself, to live it fully, before submitting again to sleep. Art begins at that point, that moment, when resistance overcomes submission.

(via terranulliuswow)