These Are the Times

There are many days; dreary, dark, and unsupported by my truth. Many moments as a, woman, an artist, a overly thoughtful person, where I judge myself way too harshly.

‘Wherever I go, however…there I am.’

In these times of uncertainty. Uncertainty in the world that drips over the edges and becomes…my personal space.

These are the times, long as they may be, I must remind myself of the following:

the Bleeding Insides of an Artist

Are you the stranger in your life?

Our thoughts are being pilfered everyday.  To think otherwise?  Would be unwise.  We must educate in a free society.  Mind washing from the church pews to the loosely termed ‘news’.  Is nothing more than slight and vague attempts at changing who we are…who we want to be.  As an existentialist would say, veiled jabs, daily, by ‘society’ are chipping away at the point of just…being.

This is where true art.  True poetry.  True and honest, expression of what many wish to suppress, should dictate ‘how we live with ourselves.’


The artist is the opposite of the politically-minded individual, the opposite of the reformer, the opposite of the idealist.  The artist does not tinker with the universe: he or she recreates it out of his or her own experience and understanding of life.  They know that a transformation must proceed from within…outward, vice versa.  The world problem becomes the problem of the SELF.

Henry Miller