đź’ĄStop Asking Me What It Means
Flash Grenades series of anonymous opinion blasts from inside the art world. Real voices. No names. No filters. These views are their own.
If the first thing you do is ask what it means, you’ve already missed it.
Not every piece is a confession. Not every drip hides a childhood wound. Some days I just want to smash paint against canvas like it insulted me. Some days I don’t want to speak in symbols—I want to scream in color.
But here you come, head tilted, notebook in hand, asking for the thesis like I owe you closure. Curators chasing coherence. Critics sniffing for heartbreak. God forbid I made something because it felt good.
Maybe there’s no “why.” Maybe it was 3AM and the silence was too loud. Maybe the brush slipped and I liked it. Maybe the mess is the message.
You want tidy arcs and trauma porn. You want me to peel back skin so you can applaud my vulnerability. But I’m not here to bleed for your enlightenment. I’m here to work.
Ask me what I used. Ask me how it felt. Ask me if the floor still remembers the first stroke. But stop asking me what it means.
Maybe it means I’m done explaining.
🔥 This is a Flash Grenade.
Anonymous. Unfiltered. Personal. The views expressed are those of the writer and do not reflect the official stance of ART Walkway.
Want to send your own? Read the guidelines.
