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The Art of the Damned

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  The Art of the Damned The current gallery system functions as a modern dam built right at the headwaters of artistic creation. The headwaters are the raw, bubbling springs high in the mountains—wild, uncontainable, fed by countless small tributaries of individual vision, experimentation, failure, intuition, and obsession. This is where most serious art actually begins: in studios, bedrooms, sketchbooks, late-night arguments, personal crises, and private obsessions, long before any curator or collector ever hears a name. Once a handful of major galleries, institutions, auction houses, and their allied gatekeepers (collectors, critics, fair directors, residency programs) gain decisive influence over those headwaters—deciding which artists get early solo shows, which receive press, which enter the "right" conversations, which are anointed with blue-chip representation—they effectively place the dam. From that point forward: The flow of visibility, legitimacy, money, and audien...
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Celeste Judgement Flower of Prey

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Like tears in the rain
Knowing all at once
This is not what we wanted
Trapped in this territory
That is deliberately scented to mask the  stench of our failure

So much bloodletting
Even to get even this far

Dancing repetitively across countless seasons
Hiding within one deception before attempting another
In praise of what is willed to become
I don't own my future

Plain and  unadorned and stumbling across timespans
On the surface
Everything recorded for keeping purposes
But acting as tokens that represent so much more
To the effect that
What is hidden is made to appear even more appealing

Hidden as a threat
Hidden for ownership

In secrecy
The promise that those who lie will lead themselves to death
Accepting that the more powerful gain invasive power
Through deceiving the meek
And this populous is frozen
It sits on own hands
In recognition and in horror of those that implement outrageous cunning






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