Pursuit.

To me, becoming an artist and remaining as such has always been a pursuit, and the highest one at that. I have never regarded the form as a career, merely as an idea and an ideal in and of itself. That which I hold above all else is the infinity of seeking. To seek and seek and seek, always climbing and never remaining constant. It is to accept no other reality than one's own. Mankind, I believe has lost its consciousness of self, accepting other worlds as its own instead of hunting what they know to be true to the core. The road to artistry, at least in the sense of a profession, is continual progression—continual falling, stumbling, and reaching—but always forward motion. The existence of the artist is much the same; the pursuit of the vocation and the perfect form of the idea hinge fully upon the drive--the choice to be wholly your own and the momentum to push toward the things and times and places you desire beyond all others. Society does not exist except in the realm of necessary connections. Practicality and the gross idea of "normalcy" vanishes; reality and success are self-determined. An artist never bends their sphere to the world, never to another. To be molded to fill the form of another is to compromise the oneness of self and the cosmic sense of integrity. It is then and only then the artist has failed. And folded their hand.