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It’s late. My family is asleep. The house is quiet. This is when I get to create, if I'm not so tired that I go straight to sleep.
By day, I work to provide. By night, when bandwidth permits, I build something that might one day sustain itself.
I don’t have time for art market fuck-fuck games, for chasing hype, for making what’s “easy to sell”. Every hour I put into my art is an hour I’m not with my family or catching up on sleep.
And yet, I keep creating. Not because it’s profitable (it isn’t). Not because it’s easy (it’s definitely not). But because I have to. Because there’s something in me that won’t stop searching, refining, evolving. It's an obsession. And I love my art, compulsively.
Some nights, I wonder: Will it ever be enough? Will my work find the people it’s meant for? Or is all of this just another late-night ritual of an artist who can’t turn it off?
I don’t have answers. Just the quiet hum of my machine, the glow of my screen, and the pull to keep going. 7 replies
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