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.