For anyone who has made friends with art, everything is hyperbolic.
The way we look at the insignificant things unfolding in our lives, the idealism we engulf in often, the need to take trivial matters, ideas or thoughts and expand them in our minds, twirl and stretch them, and look at everything from countless perspectives. But the most alluring item about art people is the way we choose to love. Unguarded, authentic, and fierce. And we can’t help but feel sad for people who build walls around themselves and are careful with their stories and words. We want to rest our forehead on their chest and tell them just how wonderful life is on our side, pull them into our colorful dream, and tell them that it’s safe there and that they can trust us.