all the words on the painting connect together and say
"we get sick of each other. we all get sick of each other. we all get sick. we all get sick. we are sick.
we get sick of ourselves. we change. we want change. we change. we as humans are art pieces. we mold ourselves into something different. we create, but then we are sick, we are sick..... sick of our molds. the mold we created into ourself. we will constantly pick at our mold until we think it is perfected. to you, yourself. your mold is perfect. but a few days go past, and you constantly pick at it. it heals and then you pick, you cant stop picking at yourself, your mold. we are creating art, ourself. human. but when do we stop picking at our own molds? until we bleed? until death...?
our biggest art peice is never is finished. we are an open wound.
some art pieces never even touch their mold.......... "
acrylic, two seperate cavases hung up together.
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