We look into the damp, dark recesses of our mind to look for finite definition for our actions and expressions. We are looking for a straight line in a work comprised of curved loops. How we don't acknowledge the curved loops' flexibility to everything.
We can only see shapes through our narrow minds. Not the abstract dimensionality. The straightening of a curved loop is the destruction of true art. Moving endlessly with infinite pertinence. That no one yet everyone understands.
I don't really I understand what I'm saying, but there's this insinuation that makes this feel expressionate.