Art is personal, autobiographical. The depth of one’s experience cannot exceed the height of one’s experience, and vice versa. The depth of one’s pain cannot exceed the height of one’s joy. A life lived vicariously cannot produce art. A life without passion, devotion, adoration, sacrifice, commitment, obsession, pain, and joy cannot create art.

In every intelligible reality, in belief rendered viable, the place of sacrifice, the wound, must be found. A being is only touched at the point of vulnerability, at that time and place where it succumbs. The wounds of injury, hurt, pain, suffering, grief, anguish, agony, distress, ordeal, trauma are the places the light enters you, to heal you. Darkness is the absence of light. Darkness is also the opposite of light. Darkness conceals. Light elucidates. Light reveals. 

The darkness to which we return in sleep, is a deepness, an extremity, an intensity, not a blackness. In sleep, though the wounds may be healed, the scars remain, reminders of the gauntlets we have run, the lessons we have learned, the triumphs we have won.