it’s easy to sell shit
to those who don’t trust themselves
it’s delicious selling art
to those who actually do
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Art
it’s easy to sell shit
to those who don’t trust themselves
it’s delicious selling art
to those who actually do
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Art to the exclusion of everything else.
Every piece is a portal.
Your life is art unfolding.
The mess is part of the art.
The actual art is just you being you, regardless of the piece.
Art is never about the audience.
I don’t create. I stay out of the way. IT is created through me.
It’s easy to sell shit to those who don’t trust themselves. It’s delicious selling art to those who actually do.
You create your art. People enter it as they wish. They take whatever they need. But the creation was for you.
Who cares if no one likes it? Who cares if no one gets it? Is it true? Is it you? That’s enough.
If you care about the outcome, you can’t create real art.
I am an artist before his lover. I am mine before I am his.
I always do what I am told to do. And that’s the art I make.
I’m so in love with my body of work.
I know I should be a functioning adult, but I’d rather be with my art.
Turning my life into art since way back when.
my being writes ahead of my life / love letters from me to me
i’d rather the art he inspires / than his body next to mine
he is my creation / like every other thing / a treasure i gift myself / as i fall deeper into me
create / extract / curate
open source
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Each piece tells me exactly what to do with it.
The when, the where, the what, the how.
The size, the colour(s), the shape, the length.
Where to begin.
And where to end.
It’s not my place to ask questions.
I listen and obey.
I always do what I’m told to do.
And that’s the art I make.
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Humanity Against Evil / L'umanità Contro Il Male (1906) by Italian artist, Gaetano Cellini (1873-1937).
At the base of the sculpture, it reads (in Italian): “Thus I’ll extirpate using my teeth and nails / the eternal pain that stings my heart.”
As of late, I’ve been floating further away from form.
And last night it became clear that the platform / vehicle through which I was intending to showcase my upcoming collection, was no longer a fit.
Any sense of restriction,
containment,
management,
anything based on time…
any reliance on another or a thing in any way…
feels too dense / too heavy / too cluttered for me.
I need things as light and seamless and Mandy as can be.
And…
I’ve created so much art and beauty this year.
So much went on behind the scenes.
So much that’s been waiting for the perfect home.
I can’t wait to bring you up to speed.
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when someone writes something ‘off’ on a post
or says something ‘off’ on a call
(‘off’ meaning energetically inaccurate)
i use that glitch in a piece of my own
to address and ‘correct’ what was ‘off’
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If it was alive in its creation,
that energy carries through the perception of time.
There is no expiration date on a work of art that pulses with the essence of its creator in their most raw and potent state.
Juxtapose this to a piece that’s created for anything other than the impulse and necessity of being true.
The piece falls flat.
It’s energetically dead.
And no amount of ‘time’ will bring that piece to life.
Because the energy it’s created with is the energy that remains with it (until it’s infused with something new, something true).
Which is why a piece from long ago can touch each new generation with the same intensity as the one before.
It isn’t just the sounds.
The visuals.
The words.
The hype.
It’s the energy it was sourced from, that carries it along, as if no time had passed at all.
When something is alive, you feel it.
And when it’s not, you don’t.
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the work
the art
the beauty
the play
is learning how to freefall
into the deepest
richest
rawest
purest
sharpest
and most potent point
within yourself
without sight
with no concern
for what’s left behind
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With two friends:
I take a pic of friend #1 since she and the background look perfect together.
Friend #2 sees the pic, loves the pic, and tells me to do the same for her.
I tell friend #2 that’s not how art works.
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