In terms of the destruction of singular identity, sometime I feel that I want to end the ongoing suffering of perpetual endurance and just get the whole damned thing over with. I may have won a battle or two but I definitely lost the war. Goals that I signed on board to fulfill evaporated by the shifting dragon’s tail of society. The whole thing is a properly planned facade promising only artful deception anyhow, is it not? I don’t have anything left to fight for in the occasional shadows of this former self. For those who have barely made it past adolescence, let me advise that one is likely to die and be reborn many time before encountering the final mystical transition beyond the flesh.
The nature of painting revealing something esoteric within the abstract that speaks not just to the present moment but carries on a conversation through the years. Like a sea borne derelict something familiar by its customary presence but terrifying by the fact of its abandonment. A floating house of secrets supported miraculously by the formerly mundane. The fate of all good relationships to sink or swim for it until if by incomprehensible magic a better one appears upon the horizon and saves one from oblivion. The whole world around one spills into any given personality. And when that incarnation of individuality eventually leaves that part of the world ceases to exist.