Where familiarity is a phantom, present, but ever evasive. Art is al language that surpasses words in everyday conversation; far more than familiar expressions, which seamlessly sink into our daily dialogue. Whatever is seen holds and unseen value, held by the acknowledgement of the viewer, in accordance to their own standards within perception. In a world of personalized allegories, where many truths overlap, and assail us, each of us an enduring piece to the puzzle of the great picture. We as a creative collective behold beauty of one beyond the boundaries of our natural world. So what do we ever bring to the world responsibly, and what is it all ever really worth if we don't at least try to do something remarkable? Even if by merely being an influence on others of our innate abilities to that of effecting another. For I am... I have been... and I will be. Therein this human condition, the art of emotions is soul seated for how we reconcile our thoughts to the art of living a concise conscious choice, in elaborate effects. Our choices and actions, are in the art of affecting graces, within the collective of connected consciousness. A present universal conduit of creativity. What resourceful visions do you hold? And which ones do you ever act on, and bring forth? Choices like existence are vast and not limited. You're capability is immeasurable. For an artist does not live by paint alone. An artist is one who acknowledges the many marvels among manifestation, by always actively creating, inventing, visioning, questioning, seeking and giving individual ingenuity of themselves, in accord to the many arts of life, always, in one form or another. Now then, assuming aesthetic alliances, to the art of what is ever inherently in association to all of imagery. Seemingly, in the simplicity of every manifested science, sound, sight, star seeded human to harbor the manifested body, we are always home in every element of our being. Held to the nature of the seen and the unseen allurement of consciousness. Therein self questioning and conjury of who, where and why? Being both the question and the answer, both will repeat therein, and change, where the only thing certain, is where each individuals self inquiry of questioning of what ever lives, and what does not die... Therein is a certain knowing of what we seek to remember. However, have we forgotten with a forged fog of reason? Rather that it be we go forward, than reflecting back, in the art and life of science, space, time, and as always, we are in all ways in the ever-changing art of an inescapable ever-recurring cycle, going forth with what returns without fail, to the paint from which it begins.