In my lifelong search for truth, I have found very little, if nothing, worthy of the name. I have found no answers, only more questions. Yet I still believe. I still have faith. I’m vexed by the question, why? Why still believe? Why have this faith in nothing?

Because words, thoughts, and concepts are a violence. All they do is cut and separate the oneness of reality into “things”. The object of my faith can never be spoken of, never described, never relegated to something so base as to be called an “answer”.

Good art, like good questions, make contact with a soul, challenging it, and in so doing creates an opening for never-ending creation.