Innermost, farthest.
In the spirit of mid-century futurism, space saga and vivid expression, my aims are that of an otherworldly caste. Frantic to lose myself in fantasy, have impulse to explore, especially when times are so grim that you can’t get out of bed, arts can be used to buoy public confidence and arise optimism. I want to create much longed after escape. But. It seems all I have is a sentimental longing for a utopian happiness that will always be out of reach. The only journeys I seem to make are around my room and my most satisfying encounter my bed, which are experiences traditionally only recommended to the poor, the infirm, and the lazy. I know not how to experience the worlds I suggest in my art. There is a coup in my mind. But this strange indoor land does not cost. And there I can fall into silence.