And in the end...

And in the end, the question remains: how can one create art when surrounded by rivers of blood?

To act. To organize. To march. To protest.

But what about the art? Where does the impulse to bring new artwork into a world engulfed in massacre and oppression come from?

The truth is that I have not yet found the answer.

I paint because it happens — because the act insists on itself. I have no way to explain it, and no way to justify it.

I think about this every single day, with every additional brushstroke.