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The art of authenticity

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  The Struggle for Authenticity in Art I want to speak today about authenticity . And about what we quietly give up to be accepted. We’re told that contemporary political art values autonomy . That artists are free. That inquiry sits at the centre of practice. But autonomy, in reality, is often something we *perform*— not something we’re allowed to exercise. Freedom is celebrated rhetorically, while legitimacy is granted only when work conforms to approved languages , approved theories , approved causes . Autonomy isn’t denied outright. It’s curated. This system doesn’t fail artists by accident. It functions mechanically. It rewards work that aligns with predetermined frameworks and filters out work that doesn’t speak the sanctioned dialect. Many voices are excluded not because they lack skill or meaning, but because they refuse to translate their experience into institutionally legible language. I’m not saying all excluded work is good. I am saying much of it is never heard. And ...
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Godin Equilibrium

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I woke up this morning and I felt a pain in my brain.
It was like all had changed and all will continue to change.
Nothing was left as the same.
And in this remorse I was the only one who  knew.
I just can't  believe it,   no-one would believe  in what I had to say.
So I yelled hard and long about all the injustices that has occurred.
I stomped my feet hard to the ground.
I punched through  the air to sporn my stance of knowing .
I spat deceit at society.
But no one knew for me and no-one wanted the goodness within my heart.
I became increasing alone.

In this life I can grasp the future.
I see visions of what's it's to be.
Messages  decrypt and whisper their intent to me.
I cannot find my way to you.
The more I warn the more you ignore me.
The greater the detail the less you want to know.
I began to hate you.

Where can I cry with my love watching over me?
When can I celebrate  when everything I state eventually unravels into loneliness?
The ground is trembling.
I feel it in my feet.
It disturbs  my standing.
I have lost my equilibrium.
But I cannot  reach out for help.
I will not reach out for help.
I pity your own mistaken and intended faults.
Strike me down whilst it's what you want to do.
I want you to stike me down.
I want to feel our pain.



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