Diagram Of The Lunar Cycle From A Children's Book On Calendars, Necia H. Apfel, 1985.

Saul Leiter

Untitled, n.d

by Nathan Lerner Rainy Day, Tokyo, 1981

The way I see it, Art has two functions: escapism and confrontation. It serves as both a sanctuary and a mirror. Through escapism, Art creates landscapes where burdens dissolve, where the ordinary is transformed into the extraordinary. It reminds us of the boundless beauty that is preserved in the world and the immense potential that we harbor. It paints a picture of what could be.

But Art also confronts. It grips us by the shoulders, demanding that we open our eyes to the raw, unadorned reality of existence. It challenges the lies we tell ourselves and the illusions we construct, and forces us to reckon with the depths of our humanity. In confrontation, Art becomes the wound that refuses to heal until we take care of it. With its blood and pus, Art paints a picture of what is.

Though it might seem so, these functions are not opposites — they are intertwined; a good piece of art achieves not just a balance but a fusion, where escapism and confrontation become two edges of the same sword. This dual-edged nature is what gives Art its power. The escapist edge whispers of what the world should be; the confrontational edge reveals what the world truly is.

A sword with one dull edge is incomplete, blunt and purposeless, and, certainly, a useless weapon against any enemy, leaving its wielder defenseless and vulnerable in the face of danger. In the same way, Art that leans too heavily on either escapism or confrontation becomes unbalanced. Pure escapism is shallow and hollow; it risks becoming an empty distraction. Pure confrontation, on the other hand, risks alienating and overwhelming the audience without offering hope.

it is winter everywhere inside you

Claude Monet, Jennifer Chang, Sara Lefsyk, Joseph Fasano, Kaveh Akbar, Mahmoud Darwish

Einstürzende Neubauten in front of a slot machine with camera, c.1992. Concept by N.U. Unruh

From the book by Andrea Cangioli

running on a different operating system

to brush most people's probing aside

is effortless, deflecting blows so they never see you - I've had to catch myself noticing people in weak moments. they make you feel like some unfathomable pillar

created by something ancient or alien, or maybe just yourself.

I despise the predatory element,

a weakness seen

that could blend in better -

now it’s something kind,

learning what makes people tick. I wonder if other people like me exist

building fortresses of knowledge

no one suspects we possess -

I catch myself studying people,

watching from outside the circle

of normal human interaction.

it’s not malicious,

just different -

a compulsion maybe, or just curiosity distilled into methodical observation.

it started as survival,

now I notice the pause before a practiced lie,

the subtle shift in posture when someone feels threatened -

all these blaring, bright neon signs I used to try to mimic.

sometimes I wonder if they can tell

I’m building libraries of their expressions,

cataloging their reactions

and how they signal belonging - it’s exhausting work.

sometimes I catch someone watching me,

an eye-meet, wonder-if they’re like me moment, or if they just sense something off

and wrong -

we were constellations once,

maybe now there’s just a slight delay

in recognition,

while I wonder if they’re like me

collecting a moment for too long.

Patricia Morrison, 1978.

There are moments in life that feel so structured and poetic that they feel less like reality and more like scripted fiction and I think that those are some of the most important ones to hold onto

Me today

I don't have an appropriate audience anywhere else to post it for so enjoy