Tonight, I re-visited The Americans by Robert Frank.

Gritty. Filthy. But beautiful. His photos are a murky, lingering sentiment that you can’t quite grasp.

This blog is an attempt to lasso my thoughts and obsessions in a succinct manner — a manner which I can revisit and reinterpret as my art fluxes, flows. This is not to say that I will be discussing art theory or even art, although those will be major components to the blog. I will dump stories that recur in my head as well as seemingly small encounters and incidents that made an impression. The hope is that, eventually, I may learn a little more about why I make art.