Art does not belong to the artist.
It belongs to the consumer of art.
Our feelings are not our own, they are shared tangled in the unified field looking to attach to their opposites, scared of a true validation and impervious to an accurate analysis.
All we are, are abstractions floating and tangled and there’s a beauty in that, until perspectives force us to see the horror inherent in beauty and the sacrifice in the privilege of life.
Not all of us float free to digest the entitled dissection of creativity. Some of us are bound down, pressed and trapped. Culture is craving.
But they are us. It is we.
None of it belongs to you.