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The art of futility

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  Creation doesn’t save. Art stabilises. That’s why art continues after belief has died. Not because it promises something— But because consciousness cannot stop itself. The will to create isn’t heroic. It’s involuntary. A reflex. The art of futility A spoken monologue I don’t make art because it matters. I make it because consciousness produces excess. And excess demands release. That’s the first lie we’re taught—that art points toward truth. Truth doesn’t need us. It existed before our gestures and will remain after our silence. Art isn’t revelation. It’s a regulation. An overdeveloped mind can’t remain idle. Thought accumulates. Pressure builds. Expression becomes a discharge—not a message. This isn’t noble. It’s biological. Paintings. Texts. Sounds. Images. All variations of the same maneuver. Not transcendence . Containment . Once you see this, ambition collapses. Influence. Legacy. Relevance. These are metaphysical debts art can no longer pay. The work is finished the moment...
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Jingili Water Bug

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Jingili Water Bug

From behind a sacred figurehead
Return from objectivity 
Return from functionalism 
Return from disciplinary power

Move towards subjectivity and genuine ideas
To find states of mind within the disorders 
Of fidelity
Of passion
Of paganism
Of earthliness

This internal world
Of no plot
Of no absolutism
Nothing that is incontrovertibly true

Unpretentious
Of mutual interest 
Of mutual understanding









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