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My blog is called Art Life Balance. I use it for sharing my outermost innermost thoughts about art and life, sometimes in the form of comics.


If you like offbeat jokes, stream-of-consciousness-style ramblings, and off-the-cuff social commentary, you might just like Art Life Balance.


It dawned on me recently that “artist” isn’t a label reserved for people who have mastered a particular skill or medium, who make money from their creative work, or who espouse a particular message. The label belongs anyone willing to look closely at, listen intently to, and truly learn from their experiences and surroundings. And that’s a pretty select group, if you ask me.

Today’s new technological developments may expand material possibilities, but they’re indifferent at best and antithetical at worst to the emotional and spiritual needs of the human beings they’re ostensibly designed to serve.

It’s no wonder the state of being constantly plugged in — of consuming an endless stream of information, news, and opinion — makes people miserable.

Most art is inherently alive with ambiguity. If we overexplain it, we risk reducing it to a collection of calculated moves, a trite statement about society. And if art is worth experiencing, such statements don’t do it justice.

“Meaning,” like art, is an elusive and personal thing. It emerges from form and function and relates to association and analysis, but it doesn’t stop there. It manifests as a feeling. It crops up in unexpected places. It can’t be pinned down without slipping away.

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