More Than Software Is Being Withheld - Our Breath Is Also Denied

What are many of us but artists, and what do we do but create? We can function in the world of suits and clocks, but to do so we have to press ourselves. We suffer and strain for the art, sure, but no more than any parent does so for their child – no more than is worthwhile for what we get to experience in return. A parent does not need to force upon themselves the task of being a guardian to their children, certainly not anyone intended to raise young in the first place – we who were born knowing there was naught to do but create, simply do so. It is the most basic function of our existence… the action we revert to when there is nothing else being imposed upon our will… it is our default application. This community, and the rare few like it - here we can breath or suffocate. Whichever we choose though, it is a gift, because, we got that choice.

However, for many decades now, those who live off the air which only creating visions and prose can provide have lost their footing in the regard of society. It is through no fault of our own that we have been forgotten, left to silent corners with our paints and pens and photographs, the Muses never failed us. Instead, a foundation which is intrinsic to our very existence started making a new way in the world – industry, the stuff of creation, left the deft hands of the artist and joined the crusade of the scientist and engineer. It has served those new pursuits very well, some might claim too well, but anyone who looks closely at it will see it grows weary of propelling us ever forward. Indeed, if you look around now, to the overbearing and misleading events of present day, you will see an exhaustion among the masses who utilized it as well. All the millions who gave away their colors and introspection for the strength of stainless steel and the efficiency of spreadsheets. You will see upon the face of industry as surely as on the faces of all children of the diesel decades tears falling - dire want to simply be pleased of eye, ear, or mind. The world has tired of expeditious results, and yet are at a loss as to what it even is to find the slow calm of Thoreau’s Walden pond, or the cool depths of Kandinsky blues. What the world needs, it may not know, but we do… in our very being we know exactly. The world is in dire need of us.

As for what it is we must do, well, nothing more than what we have always done. The cure is here. It is all over this site and in our homes, and we can tincture more whenever we wish from within ourselves… So remember the following: We can no longer think of ourselves as mere corners. We cannot allow ourselves to be footnotes on the world page, nor hobbies to require special stores. We cannot happily live as portions of a whole… not if we ever hope to change the world and our place in it ~ *we cannot simply place our panacea upon a wall or easel and hope for all others to wander in and accidentally become healthy again through providence.* _We_ have the cure to this grey, sad world’s condition, and we must be forcefully willing to give it. We must tailor the world, every inch, with trappings of the vision most have lost, so that none can ever ignore or forget them again.

It is time for the next Renaissance, indeed long overdue, and it is upon us to bring it.

After all, no one fails at their default application – for truly its function IS our success. Let it also be that which belongs to the world as well.