Downtown Loveland and The Start of an Old Artist Statement

The other night I found an artist statement that I had started a while ago. I hardly even remember writing it. My first response was, "where'd this come from?"

[All true art contains the element of death. By death I don't mean a literal death, but a conscious awareness of one's existence. The feeling of a heightened sense of awareness to your environment like the feeling soon after the death of a close loved one, when you see reality as it is and you know, or you think you know, its motivations. I want to boil that feeling down to its essence to make it a dot, a spec, a period with the density of a black hole. The problem is the period becomes smoke and the smoke is impermanent. And that's the great tragic comedy of it all. The smoke can't be nailed down or made into a period. It can't be grasped. Yet, it is a truth experienced. It is evident in the clouds and the side glances of strangers. It can be an honesty so painful it gets hidden. Buried deep down in an anonymous field at midnight somewhere in one of the Dakotas. The contradictory notion of simultaneously existing yet trying to deny one's existence.]

Well, it's a start.