Inching Towards Infinity, I Make Art
The demons surface ferocious, devouring what little room is left outside the roar inside my little head. I once thought silence is music perfected,
but now believe it is
screaming Order through the creative process without which one only sees oneself in the world as opposed to imagining a world with the real them in it.
I make Art.
Because maybe the function of Art is not to mirror an imagined identity but to deliver that identity to safety, security, to a space free from the demons that drive one to create in the first place.
Or maybe the function of Art is the dysfunction of functioning;
living with the inability of living with the inability until a miracle is born from disaster.
Or maybe the function of Art is to disrupt all silence with the music of our lives—pain, fear, frustration, confusion, loss, agony.
Most importantly, Art is consumed with delivering us past death. YES, Art is the invention that robs death of all power.
Like an angelic visitation,
Like a newborn baby is prayer,
Like souls resurrected
the work of a true Artist
Copyright, Nick Mwaluko 2016