Art is there whether you turn towards it or away from it. It continues to speak long after we stop listening to it; it continues to grow long after we die. Art transcends its creator – and through time, art betrays or subverts or even redeems the intent with which it was born. Art is the small piece of you that truly IS immortal and worthy of immortality; the part of you that glimmers in the darkness and sparks the wildfire of creation against an oppressive vacuum. That empty nothingness is the natural state of the universe – one without you – and your art is a direct threat to its cosmic regime. Art, and the act of creating art, is the physical realization that you are your own god of your own world.