to the time its art, to art its freedom. when i first read that quote, i was thinking a lot about politics. how academics are fearful of speaking up in universities for fear of their careers. and how, for each time, art can be a way to speak quietly. lately, i have been realizing that i have been my very own police state. it is not that anyone or anything is keeping my own art from being free. it is me. how often have i had an image in my mind. for days and i’ll think about how i could bring it to life. photography? black pen? illustrator? how often do i stop short, citing ability or believing that i have thought of nothing exciting or new enough. it is beginning to dawn that, in each time of my life, the art would be different. more of a reflection of the moment. and, perfect or not, that art (that particular moment) wants freedom.