Art to me is a living force, formless in its essence yet constantly taking form. It is a site of becoming, not bound to permanence but always in motion. Not just an expression, but a transformation, of material, of perception, of self. Art holds space for disruption, not as destruction, but as an opening, an invitation to re-form, re-imagine, to begin again.
I am not me here,
I am all of us;
past,
present,
and future.
To search is to empty words
of meaning.
To empty meaning
of meaning.
And in that quest,
to walk the path of being emptied.
a diary of longings . . .
Unable to fit, my subjective “I” escapes the objective “me”.
And I
remain
an unidentified,
foreign particle.
I smile at existence,
at the passing body,
at the rustlings of the mind’s autumn.
