Fluff: the hidden track from my artist statement

To fluffy to be professional, but maybe blog appropriate…

The vacuum of art production (and life for that matter) is akin to the journey of a tiny, lonely asteroid, adrift, long ago unmoored from its belt brethren. Despite the abyss between home and destination I broadcast persistent, if feeble, cricket chirps of self-expression, my beacon to the belt. More often than not, I am answered by a deafening silence that reminds me the only thing lower than a sculptor (according to Elton John) is a potion salesman. Almost invariably I reach the precipice of utter isolation and the urge to go radio silent is abated by subtle affirmation “good one”. This intermittent trickle of approval, failure fed frustration, and the resentment spawned by a mountain of rejection drive me to cast out a few more of my message-filled bottles, that they might reach another if only as a bread crumb on the trail. I carry on, honing my ability to speak as I drift ever nearer the shore of silence.

 

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