Retro vintage throwback flavors from the future, all our technology smooshed together and connected with the appropriate cords found on ebay, combining eras through the filter of tech limitations of the moment of whatever piece of equipment you’re happening to be working with as it trickled down to you. The Real Artists always have Real Equipment and charge you $170 for a portrait session. They were born to a comfortable bed and have never wanted for the latest metaphysical blankets to shield them from the cold nature of the Real World. And somehow these still end up being the Real Artists in the Real World, because none of it is real at all. It’s all a con, a midway game we all are living within but don’t realize, the basket with a spring on the bottom that bounces most of us into struggle and despair but some got the carnies hitting the button for ‘em from day one. So don’t get mad when you see them walking around with the life-sized Pooh bear. It was always rigged. Make art with what you have at hand, fuck ambitions of greatness or being a Real Artist. Scatter your shit everywhere, like shit, and fuck ‘em if they don’t like it.
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