My Bedroom

Plato once described a theory that all minds were connected to one greater, truer reality, and the fact of the appearance of all that is created by man is as nature had always intended - or rather, as human nature has always intended. That a chair is not simply a chair, but a creation drawn from a memory of the first and only ever chair in the one true reality where all furniture comes from. I guess. According to Plato. Its of course not that simple. It gets into this idea of shared thought, of universal existence, of one shared human memory from heaven or whatever the soul came from before. Yet I cannot stop thinking of Plato’s chair, floating in some perfect universe full of the entirety of what I assume is a very extensive furniture catalogue. Should the world be made up of worlds and paracosms inside of the minds of man, which one is the perfect one with the right chair? I propose that its not the universe that the chair is drawn from, but the universe that describes the potential for the chair and the worlds inside of minds that sing songs of them, and the hands of the caretakers of those worlds that finally make them real. Unlike the chair of the mind, the chair of the earth has to be more complete, more stable, it needs things like nails or clever cuts to keep it together. The perfect chair in the mind only touches the surface of the chair - romanticized and simplified by the song. As an artist, you might dream of grand chairs, you might chase the high of the perfect chair for all your life, hoping that if you do it long and well that you would succeed and win and your prize… Which would be a chair. And yet some artists might be pleased with a life of just making okay, imperfect chairs. Its by miracle, by stubbornness, or by true peace of mind that they don’t see the chairs as imperfect at all. They capture something the other artists spend their career chasing - which is, of course, the simple bliss of being satisfied in your work.

Gender & Orientation

Neuro/Divergencies

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