Everything beautiful has been so misrepresented, so distorted and disfigured by our warped minds into some of our expressions.  Some expressions are extentions of ourselves, pure or unpure.  We have been infected.

From conception the power of the artist can either reflect our distortions or display them as "works of art."  The audience has no less power by our choice of participation. And so it goes with our attendance with art-the same goes with life. 

I sacrifice movement, I sacrifice participation and perhaps even hold love at bay for the saving of my eyes, the preservation of my sensitivity, and the prevention of the desensitizing my soul.  Satisfaction lies in the knowledge that love still moves and exists, even when my awareness of it comes to a screeching halt.

When the heart thaws, at last, I hope to encounter a genuine expression.  When the ice melts, I long for the journey to continue.  When my feet move, I hope to meet the inspirational community of true artists that defy the status quo and know a bit about what elevation is. 

I hope first to be able to give that very thing myself.