pkin-j

Art is the greatest luxury of life, not for the beholder but for the creator.

Whereas others seek to build capital for materialistic purposes, I seek to build capital to metaphorically burn while I create. The value of my creation is intangible. This is not to say that I cannot sell it to someone, however I would never buy my own work. If I sell it, then I've sold it at the top. My art is and will be a seller's market. For I have no reason to sell it. The intrinsic value is such that to me it is the greatest non-breathing thing on this planet. The only reason I would sell it would be to acquire more capital with which to create something that impresses and affects me more. If nothing were to impress and affect me more than a piece of my art, then there shall be no reason to sell it as it's the greatest creation I could effect. For me. It's personal luxury. It's understanding the soul and desires so intrinsically that I am the only one who can create to entertain it. But that's the furthest luxury can go. Luxury cannot purchase or even create love. It can approach a limit called lust. But it cannot reach love. Love is so conceptually easy that it's practically difficult. And therein lies its dilemma. To advance oneself to attain conceptuality, one often overlooks the practicality that is "tedious" and hence seems time-consuming, or wasteful. But it's not. The sharing of time passage with someone you love brings such great fulfillment that the portrayal of such I find difficult except to actually show it. Because we don't see it often enough to realize it. To understand what it is. So it's hours and hours of "nothing" but utter enjoyment and connection. And listening and providing and caring and comfort. There's something uncomfortable about living alone, even if we confuse ourselves enough to think otherwise. But there's nothing more comfortable than living together (as one), despite whatever rationalizations to the contrary.