Why should we love an artist? What the hell has Picasso, Hemingway and O’Keefe given us what we didn’t already have?
In a world of 90 percent conformity amongst the blacks, white, Hispanics and Canadians and/or every country on the map: there is nothing we have not touched or over turned in our attempts to combat boredom.
Books no longer sell on shelves…they don’t live on in E Books. Newspapers are vacant and devoid of anything that isn’t marketable or stained yellow from propaganda. Politics are what they always have been dirty and cheap like the whores most politicians state they never went to bed with.
Artists for centuries have taken the black n white, the good and the ugly, the dispassionate and the young and the dead to levels of uncertainty. Plots buried in the minds of the seekers. Seekers who desire more than being tuned in, de-friended, tweeted and plain old, beatin’ down by the beatniks of regulatory mindsets.
If one friend told one friend and another person listened in to ‘did you see what Snooki‘ was up to last night, at the local fill ‘er up and put more money into a squabbling with chemical weapons country, convenience store; the urbane and urban jungle of a small town in everyone’s back yard would wait to find out the rest of the story on Entertainment Tonight. Baited breath…what could be wrong with the Snook? What was she thinking fuckin’ that guy from Jersey? Did you see what she was wearing?
Art is a form of expression that seems to have made it out of the trenches of this and every other generation’s idealism of ‘are you really that transparent?’
Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. –Pablo Picasso
To the acute follower of passion on paint and verse…art is everything I can and cannot imagine. It seems to be the only way out is through art.
In the end, a writer, a free thinker and a confidant to non compliance is the hope for a future revolving around the unseen…the unseen that can only be imagined.