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Some of us have difficulty verbally expressing ourselves. We need a deeper, more indelible expression of our desires, fears, loves, emotions, dreams, causes, opinions, or life experiences. We crave something permanently cast on the medium of our choosing…

Be it paper – illegibly scrawled out or furiously typed. Pouring heart and soul into inadequate descriptors, trying to capture essence in mere words, trying to voice thought/feeling/opinion/pain/joy/love/lust through character and prose while struggling to keep an audience enthralled with this gleaming sliver of imagination that is in fact a glimpse of our own wounded psyche. Ink in written form purges our inner turmoil while affording us an elusive chance for immortality through the gilded page.

But perhaps the canvas is a human one? Here our art becomes a deeply personal act of trust, often closer to the soul’s truth than the wearer cares to admit. Needle and ink become adrenaline fueled brushes of brilliance, coaxed across living paper, drawing out angst/pain/happiness/causes/memories until not only the artwork is permanent, but so is the tale of its creation. Ink in tattooed form grabs our darkest demons and drags them into the light, transforming scar and shadow into vibrant living monuments.

Ink is therapy, and as such may need to be repeated to keep the emotions purged, the shadows at bay, or the memories immortalized. Yet each time ink touches canvas, old wounds are healed and new dreams spring to life in chaotic perfection. The psyche is again relieved, the adrenaline and pain will once more fade, but the story in the ink shines on forever to tell the world who we really are.

 

 

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