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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 mome...
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My favourite image of the week 002

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MY FAVORITE IMAGE OF THE WEEK

23.9.17
#myfavoriteimage

Shamini



I can see the treasure of myths circulating between godliness and normality
Breaking through the walls of today
Reminding those of us trapped in the haste of work and process
There is a time within nothing matters, that where imagination reigns

 Bringing forth and into light, transience and wonder
If only I could have been there to see flight and fight 
and experience the tearing of perceptual fabric 





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