I am a meticulous attempt at mimetic deconstruction.

One day, upon awakening, the epiphany hits you:

Art does not exist.

However, the perception of above said is a mere possibility.

I do not know anything about Art with a capital A. What I do know about is my art. Because it concerns me. I do not speak for others. So I do not speak for things which profess to speak for others. My art, however, speaks for me. It lights my way.

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