It is a fool’s game to attempt to interpret the work—any work— of an artist. Because there is no interpretation. Nothing to be interpreted. The intended meaning is just that—an absolute. The thing you see or hear before you is what the creator intended it to be. Even if that intention was to be ambiguous.

But where, might you ask, is Art in all this. Well, if the concept of Politics precedes everything, guess what, Art, informs everything that politics and language created because 70,000 years ago, Homo sapiens developed an ability no other animal possesses, the ability to imagine that what which can not be seen. In other words, Imagination. If there is a dividing line between art and imagination, I’m hard pressed to find it.

Fall is always in such a rush to get here. Spring refuses to leave. Summer is a fair-weather friend, and winter is a drunken old bastard with an axe to grind.

But where, might you ask, is Art in all this. Well, if the concept of Politics precedes everything, guess what, Art, informs everything that politics and language created because 70,000 years ago, Homo sapiens developed an ability no other animal possesses, the ability to imagine that what which can not be seen. In other words, Imagination. If there is a dividing line between art and imagination, I’m hard pressed to find it.

An engorged pig sits in a stale pond, lapping at the stagnant water while the fish die. Its heavy, muffled breath does nothing to stir the sheet of algae growing on the surface.

To do that kind of a joke could be considered totally appropriate to some or absolutely unforgivable, depending on the perspective.

The list can go on forever but the essential point is that best of the horror genre refuse to define exactly what the monster terrorized the flawed humans is and allows the viewer to play the game.

I share a collective sense of powerlessness with the general population when it comes to changing the world. Of course, I’m no genius and have no real answers for what ails our lives, but when true pioneers come along humanity has a long history of destroying their progress. These pioneers are artists that were trying to paint better futures for us.

Artists get paid so little on the middle to the bottom of the pile because Any asshole can say he's an artist. A degree means dick unless you're going to go into Arts Administration and, even then, grad school isn't about what you learn but who you impress and befriend. If everyone who felt a need to help his fellow man could simply declare that he was a doctor could be, in fact, a doctor, then being a doctor would have very little employable value.