|   artists   workshops   contact   about   call for entries   links Chantelle Rodriguez

What is it that pulls and tugs at me, which compels me to even move? What is that drive… that desire to create, to see and be seen, to speak and be spoken to, to feel and be felt? What is the intention of my desire? Are artists just collectors of the past, living cameras with pictures? This ongoing mess of imagery… saturating my eyes, my thoughts, my mind, my being, my body. All these names of different things that mean the same thing... Repeated to the point of exhaustion and absurdity. What happened to the mystery? That innocence I once possessed about the world? I've tied it down. Denied it room to grow. Possessing it without reverence or concern for the possessed.

I think that some artists are saviors… but not in a holy, all-redeeming, sin-saving sense. Just in the sense of collecting a moment and suspending it in time, and in people’s minds. Artists are continually reflecting back information currently being received, and perceived from society. Then, reflecting it back into the public eye in a preposterous, yet thoughtful and sometimes profound way. But why must we have this desire to be like stars? We look up at these stars sometimes... I try to look at the ones above my head but the ones I see on the magazine and TV screen seem so much closer to me! Some people must have gotten their priorities misplaced somewhere along the way. Figuring out the game of word play, mistaking one thing for the next. Passing over something ever present yet so far removed. What is this affinity towards that which can never be touched, forgotten, or possessed called? Love? It must be…


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