For What it is Worth

"Art is leaving a piece of your soul to stand behind when the ashes of your once existence have long blown away. "
- Dean Miller

The moment you realize that art has a life which dictates and documents the ebbs and flows of an individual experience. Art is our beckoning desires and greatest impulses compressed into a physical creation of which means so much and so very little at any given moment.

Dean Miller

Constantly redefined by every step and every experience, art becomes its own world. Rising from a spark of black emptiness, the ultimate markings of pure imagination take form.

Art is so internally human and something so vaguely alien, art is something that is from another plane of existence yet keeps us rooted with our own sense of history. So incredibly individualistic yet so unbelievably connecting, a landmark of our shared world in each unique vision.

An attempt to define the undefinable, a stab at something more, a legacy left in an eternity of infinite possibility. Have we ever existed? Or have we always been present to experience the scope of what is truly possible?

I am either an artist or not an artist at all and I don't give an actual shit either way. Some have been tapped to release their own vision and some are just trying to survive the reality in front of them.

A hierarchy of needs creates a vacuum of urgency for the majority. The potential of a true artistic expression becomes hindered by the bleak political and dire landscape that has been constrained by the desire for more. That pressure, in turn, creates a yearning to produce diamonds and occasionally succeeds.

The Journey Never Ends

The last time I posted anything here, I was on the trip of a lifetime.

Having never completed the travel blog throughout the whole trip and ending up with far more adventures than I wrote about, I considered relying on recollection to see it to the end. Memory is a fickle bitch however, and is quite possibly the downfall of humans in general, so I will not attempt to finish those blog posts.

I ended up going to Malaysia and Burma, living at a tattoo shop, falling in love with at least 4 more people, and clinging to the brink of existence on several occasions. (You'll just have to trust that it was all very insane and surreal).

I'm sure the scope of my reach with these posts will be far less than it was before as the scope of my life is far, far less.

I have since entered the wild world of procreation and succeeded beyond my wildest expectations of raising a child. My son is now almost 3 years old and he is the joy of my, and anyone else he meets, life. I plan on taking him to northern Europe in a few years and starting back up on the ol' travel blogging hitch.

Until then, whoever is reading this is stuck with my internal musings and overall weirdness about life. And if nobody reads, well at least I'll have a journal to look back on until Skynet or Ajit Pai or whoever becomes aware and destroys the internet completely.

So yeah: Guess who's back, back again... Skippy's back, tell a friend.