Black Stroke of Midnight Genius Fire As A Drill

Black Stroke of Midnight Genius Fire As A Drill

Sometimes there is humanity within abstraction. I’m not sure the proper way to put it, but this, of all my art, bears my humanity. It may seem odd that I consider this myself as other… but the it no rule dictating if other must be human, fantastical, or pure energy upon paper. I consider this to be myself, simply ripped apart and dug into deeply.
This may look like nothing, but it actually was one of the most intensive experiences I’ve had in the visual arts. I find a bit of direction and even peace in it, though its colors are those of anger and melancholy. I chose to post it because I believe in the soul of a work of art, and know for sure that souls, those not inborn, must develop by rubbing off of another through regular interaction – something can be the most magnificent picture/painting in the world, but it is as empty as laser-pigment on bleached printer paper if it came in a flash… likewise the worst image imaginable may have a deepness to shame the ocean if it was danced with for weeks, months, years… there is notable merit in beauty alone, sure, but a soul is often required to speak freely to others.