Whenever I am asked by someone what it is that I do, I become fainter to phone call myself an visual artist or a journalist. Each category feels approaching a shirt that is too pulled straight or garment that can't be fastened. Neither phrase seems to say satisfactory around what I do. As artists, we give the impression of being to demarcate ourselves with labels that specify a merchandise which we discharge. I find it much more worthwhile to convey that I am a scholar of the humanities; that at no event in my vivacity will I be competent to say I am boffin at any one point because outstanding a educatee eternally leaves the movable barrier accessible to any fictive plan that may materialize. Over my life span of studying one thing or another, it e'er ends up being manifest that my agreed line does fit well: everything in this global is affiliated. From core bioscience to higher forms of consciousness. This becomes much apparent when language, literature, art and music are examined.
There are plentiful kinds of artists. Most having mass appeal artists ill-fatedly imagine that perfect art should meeting the sofa, they are enthralled to the transaction of consumer driven firm and their art screams this communication. It is useless of emotion, devoid of complexity and is as vapid as a steady. It is that art which commands wall celestial in expensive galleries, wins honors by juries of non-creative critics. It does not tax the mind, it does not resist the senses, it does not invitation linguistic unit or love. But at hand is other variety of art, art which makes the witness reflect or consciousness a relation to something deeper either of their own responsive endure or that of the unconscious 'dream state'. Something related to the Aboriginal People of Australia and their remark to "the Dream Time".