everything is broken.
everything is the same.
everything fits into the same box.
same cookie cutter.
and the cycle continues.
what will we do?
are our tongues stuck to the roofs of our mouths?
are our pens not pressed firmly enough on the paper?
are our fingers merely striking the same keys over an over?
right now a crayon box is spilled out in front of me and my instincts say to pick them up and put them back in the box...
but my gut tells me something different.
there is a circle on the canvas and i'm tempted to color outside the lines
but that's not enough. the canvas is still the canvas.
break. melt. rub. smash. peel. mesh. rip. rebel.
never been thought of. never been tried. make new art.
there is no canvas. only chaos.