My mind wages war with reality like clockwork, an eternal conflict that never seems to cease its merciless assault. There are no prisoners, white flags, pleas, peace, only survival of the fittest. A disconnect between who you think you are vs who reality tells you, you are. Validation of one’s work vs money, the artist knows no peace only internal damnation. Cursed with an infliction of the soul & mind that society has marked us for. Acquiring capital through one’s art, masquerading as salvation, when the real salvation lies within creation. Still unable to free ourselves, from the invisible lines some dare to cross due to expectations, validation, & or our own hesitation. We are the colors, to an otherwise bleak world, we breathe meaning into an otherwise mundane existence. Building the soundtrack to someone’s life or creating a film that becomes someone’s philosophy or creating a painting that’s passed down from generations. Accomplishments that are way more valuable in my opinion,  than monetary gain. Still the prerogative of the artist remains selfish, in the idea of creation & selfless in the outcome. Often as misunderstood individuals, a fan of your work telling you how much your art resonates with them, can make you finally feel seen, heard, appreciated even, in ways that the people closest could never. Undertaking art isn’t a choice, it’s a divine odyssey, only the bravest dare to venture on. You will be belittled, shamed, & even ostracized in some cases. Still we prevail through it all, there’s no sanctuary for us my friends only madness