What is art? Why is art? Where,, is art???
Does it even matter?
I suppose it does to me because otherwise I wouldn't be using my time to write this today. Lately I have been really rediscovering myself by questioning my knowledge about existence of my inner motivations. Questions, that I come up on the spot. They dont really make much sense to ask in the grand sheme of things but:
- Why do I create?
- Why do I show my inner thoughts to strangers?
- What makes me feel good?
- What makes me feel bad?
- Why am I so inexperienced and experienced at the same time?
- Why do I have a need to leave digital footprint about my thoughts?
- Am I jealous of people who just DO things?
- Do I even know what I am asking about or am I posing those questions just so that I have something to write about?

Hardly something I can answer out in the open like this. Mostly because I care about the divide between the performance/act and the audience. Breaking the divide is brutal and can lead to undesirable outcomes for the brain like mine. That being said- Writing things down helps. It helps a lot. And asking those questions will make you more conscious of yourself and reality around you.
But there is still struggle. No matter whenever I do write things down or not, it doesnt really go away. That feeling. That indescribable feeling.

Here are some words for you! In case you want to learn about the world and not just consume curated media.

non sequitur
                        gestalt psicologia
    sonder
    
451F
    
                                  Epicenity
                                  

Anyway here is that update I promised.

Maybe somehow I find more comfort in knowing that my work is somewhere, rather than being nowhere.

The legacy of being alive.
The world you will never see.