“Artwork”

The distance that separates us enables me to recreate you into the person I would truly like you to be.
Limited images give way for the imagination to paint pixels of perfection and give my masterpiece the label of you.
To my deep regret I’ve fallen in love with artwork, a made up character with gestures and outlines you can never fulfill.

In dreamland, reality never penetrates. I’ve been living in a dream for years now.
I’ve fallen in love with a dream and as a result given you a reason to become attracted to me.
Does a marvelous painting not love his creator back? When evidences are out of reach, I begin to sketch bridges to connect the nonfiction with possible reality.

I am a solo artist; therefore, a level headed interjection does not exist. The only details I leave absent are those that matter not to me; it will not cause the photo to fall short of its requirements in order for the artist to truly love it.
As a result, who you are is always exact but what you are is abstract.

As you produce motion and movement I do not hold the power to interfere; you are who you are. My paintbrush is not a microphone; I never dictate your speech but always crave your visual critique.

As I stand back, hand upon chin, grin upon chin; perfection at heart, I’m tapped on the shoulder and handed a picture; to my great dismay my creation and reality are almost completely unproportional

Sign,
The Artist