I spend copious amounts of time repeating the questions of my existence in my head, much of which I try to justify while looking at visual artworks. Admittedly, I do worry that this has the potential of sounding slightly pretentious. On the other hand, I genuinely seek to free myself from my troubled emotions and thoughts.

In order to participate in an artistic form of therapy, something that I am certain many of us can relate to through various personal echoing, I have turned my introspection into an artistic (and even written) endeavour. I wish for this aspect to possess longevity, something that would carry on a life outside of my “creative controls.” In other words, I, as the artist, want to be parallel to the work, as if it embodied a unique soul.

I am not finding the right words at this time, but I will present you this poem I wrote the other day! I hope that your respective journeys are keeping you well.

Opposite the
Painted canvases,
Marred with labels of
History,
I see something which
The unrequited love for
Another failed to capture.

Seeing that I did walk
Out the closet door,
I look at the canvases
Again,
Wondering how I found
Myself here,
In this room of
Antiquated and past art,
Regardless of time.

My love,
Admiration,
Slight obsession,
Wants justice for these
Absent artist beings.

It is only through art,
When I saw that
I have no time,
But I have infinite time.
It is not a paradox,
Believe you me.

Poetry art.
My best attempt
Today,
But I am not in
Time,
I am solely in
Space.