An about page. Hm. Boring. Time for a new way of describing the indescribable. Art, and why it is made. My art. Why? What on earth is it all for? I make art because I don’t know what else to do. Nothing else serves my purpose better than art. I
Now, my memories of dangerous dreams seem prescient. But who would have believed me? Perhaps there is a role for me to play in this after all, because I feel like I’ve been awake and hiding, for too long. It’s time to come out of the closet and shut the door behind us.