Just fuckin' make art.

We are the ones who never fit the frame.
Not quiet enough for the gallery,
not tame enough for the market,
not patient enough to wait for applause.

We were born unfinished
raised by noise, carved by chaos,
fed on doubt, and driven by something
too old, too wild, too honest to name.

We make because we have to.

Because the weight in our chest turns to rot if we don’t shape it into something real.
Because our hands know truth better than our mouths ever could.

This is not therapy.

This is not business.

This is blood ritual. This is reclamation.

This is war.

We tear it out, piece by piece
the grief, the heat, the longing

we lay it bare

Not for praise. Not for permission.
But because it’s the only way to feel clean.

Our work is messy.
It’s too loud. Too sharp. Too soft. Too strange. Too much.

But so are we.

We are not selling perfection. We are selling survival.

We are selling what it means to still be here and still give a fuck.

JUST FUCKIN’ MAKE ART
Even when no one cares.
Especially when no one’s watching.

Because what we make is what we are.

-ROM FAERYN