In this environment, even rebellion gets branded and sold back to us as aesthetic. The critic’s pen no longer seeks truth; it seeks control. Each “review” becomes a form of social steering — a coded approval or denial of what consciousness should look, sound, or feel like.

The Cracker Box has become the standard for what nations and markets call art. But here lies the danger: art risks becoming another boxed commodity—seasoned enough to be palatable, branded enough to be marketable, safe enough to be stacked neatly in the global pantry of empire.

We decorate the same walls of the same house of subjugation instead of tearing them down to let the untamed light in. The artist’s true role is not to echo what already is—but to expose, to provoke, to peel back the layers of illusion so something unrecognizable to the old world can emerge.

This is the war of the Artist—a war not fought with swords or gunfire, but with visions, colors, words, and truths too luminous to be ignored.
The Artist pours upon the Overlay a solvent of the soul, dissolving the veil, the matrix, the entire architecture of illusion.

To live through a thousand deaths is to become an alchemist of the soul, transforming pain into wisdom, despair into hope, silence into song.

I do not create from a single self. I am many selves. A storyteller. A artist. A poet. A traveller. A witness. A soul present. All these aspects move through me, shaping the visions that take form in my work. As I explore the whole of myself, I build a realm that is whole.