The rough pencil sketch or written word outlet, a small fragment of the real imaginings. The thoughts through the mist and ether of perceived reality. The real expression stays trapped & entombed in the confines of ones head space. Lacking as always the ability to be interpreted by the conduit artists current skill levels. The next expression will be the one that captures what is being thought. The next artistic endeavor is the golden ticket one. Always the next expression will be that which i search. Always very restless, never ever content with the status quo. Then we die unforefilled in our artistic minds eye quest. Our artistic work a husk of the flesh and blood racing inside our tiny little minds.
