What I do is hard. There’s no doubt about it. Oh, I have my critics. But what do critics know about creation? About creating art? About creating something that resonates with people, that people enjoy and from which they derive meaning?
But my audience knows. They understand me and my work. And they are thirsty for more and I come to them as water to a desert. But the water does not simply rain from the sky. I must make it with my hands and my mind in acts of true creation day after day.
For there is no easy way to create. The hard work must be done. I work hard, searching assiduously to discover new art. When I find something that I know will resonate with my audience, or that I feel they simply must see for it speaks Truth, I begin the painstaking task of collecting the art, downloading it, opening it in Photoshop, carefully removing any identifying mark, name, or URL. Then I save a fresh, new, high resolution image to be presented to my audience having been freed from the encumbrances, no, the shackles, of identification: pure art as it is meant to be and as I have created it.
Then, still nervous every time, like a new father sending his child off to school for the first time, I post my work, unsure how my, admittedly adoring, audience will receive it. But it’s always a success. Each work shorn of any base connection to the poor craftsman that shaped it, stamped instead with the mark of the true creator, of me, the curator.