(can art occur without an artist?)
Maybe the question is wrong.
Maybe art doesn’t begin
with the artist.
Maybe it begins
with a condition.
A field.
A stillness.
Something opens
and something enters.
Not summoned.
Not owned.
Just… appearing.
A melody you hum without knowing why.
A shape your hand draws while thinking of nothing.
A line that arrives mid-walk
with no sender,
but undeniable weight.
Did you make it?
Or did you just
stop being in the way?
Art, sometimes, is what happens
in the absence
of authorship.
It doesn’t ask for identity.
It just needs
an opening.
A body willing
to vanish
long enough
to let it speak.