JUST FxCK'N MAKE ART.

We are the ones who never fit the frame.
Not quiet enough for the gallery,
not tame enough for the market,
not patient enough to wait for applause.

We were born unfinished,
raised by noise, carved by chaos,
fed on doubt, and driven by something
too old, too wild, too honest to name.

We make because we have to.

Because the weight in our chest turns to rot
if we don’t shape it into something real.
Because our hands speak truth better than our mouths ever could.

This is not therapy.
This is not business.

This is blood ritual.
This is reclamation.

This is war.

We tear it out, piece by piece.
The grief, the heat, the longing.

We lay it bare.
Not for praise.
Not for permission.
But because it’s the only way to feel clean.

Our work is messy.
It’s too loud.
Too sharp.
Too soft.
Too strange.
Too much.

But so are we.

We are not chasing perfection.
We are creating as evidence.
Proof of what it means to be here and still give a fuck.

JUST FUCKIN’ MAKE ART.
Even when no one cares.
Especially when no one’s watching.

Because what we make is what we are.

ROM FAERYN