Spitting our Painter’s Palette into the Smog

When Trump won the presidency so many people took to Facebook to bear witness to the end of democracy, the end of America, the end of the world as we know it.

Whether the world ended or not in November, we’re still here. We people, poets, painters, photographers are still here to raise a fist the apparently falling sky. Okay you Doomsday cultists, the end is nigh, the titan Lucifer is laying waste to the Parisian skyline; we’ll be stay planted to document his fiery footfalls.

The fact is that we artists will be here to ward off “the end” until we aren’t. To ward off the end when there’s no reason to live and no life left. We’ll fucking be here to spit our painter’s palette into the smog.

Art doesn’t die. It does not die. Cut all the funding you want, Cheeto boy. Try to snuff the spirit of art. But you’ll find that artists will do their best to snuff you right back.

Artists will swallow every fucking seventh seal you try to shove down their throats, chew it up, and spit it back in your face.

Every dystopia has its graffiti artists.

One thought on “Spitting our Painter’s Palette into the Smog

  1. David,
    I am so glad that you brought this up! I feel like (as if I’m not anxious enough already) I am constantly living in fear of what Trump is going to do next. I don’t find myself worrying about survival of the arts but instead about survival of our nation. I think it’s interesting that you say that art doesn’t die. I completely agree with this statement. Maybe this statement is something that is inherently inside me that I never noticed before. I never worry about the survival of my work, not only because it is inside me, but also because of all the different ways my work has been shared.
    Thanks for bringing this up!

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