I make things. THINGS. Not people. Not feelings. Not mathmatical concepts.

Stuff. I suppose they can be called art, but it is more than that to me. It is the concepts and people and feelings. Not mine, but others.

Trapped, entombed, lured, tricked and kidnapped. Bound and slowly tortured into other forms. Forms no longer resembling the original. Isn't this how matter works? Nothing can be destroyed completely, only broken down and rearranged, atom by atom.

So life is a process of birth, growth, death and decay. All the while in that process , torture.
Both bad and good.

Those are my thoughts. For now.