Let me write you a postcard

Short
Let me write you a postcard.

Long
Have noticed that art galleries price things with a 0 rather than a 9?

Art galleries are not interested in presenting their merch with that basic-ass left-digit bias as if they're slinging expired neon pink ham; they are vampires literally living off of the creative blood that is imagination.

Who are the people that decide what gets past the doors and onto the walls?

What are their priorities?

What do their choices say about the art we celebrate?

Worst of all, how does this invisible market pressure NOT impact an artist battling with the need to be honest?

I am selling postcards.

Think of this as both of us giving a big middle finger to the art world, to galleries, to the notion that we will be kept at the gates, to the market, to left-digit bias, to "value."

Think of it as enabling me to pay for the duty fees on this instrument that's been stuck in customs for 5 weeks, or my taxes, or the bank, or my accountant, or a coffee, I don't have to explain myself to .

But I will, because I also want to be honest with yourself and those around about what truly want. Otherwise, there's no hope of getting there and then we're all truly fucked while Musk and Bezos and Zack are laughing their fucking asses off as they munch on BBQ squirrel meat as we drown because the literal dams have burst.

Yeah, I'm for real. I just woke up this morning and thought this up and look what happened - we are completely sidestepping the capitalist art gallery complex, making imbecilic-but-kinda-logical statements about money's role in creativity while having a total laugh. Oh, did I just flip the tables there on the villas of my last paragraph?

Listen. Do hear that? That's the sound of illionaires and trust fund gallery owners shitting their pants. The writing's on the wall fuckers... or at least on the postcard.

PS. don't worry, I've thought this through, nothing is more humiliating than giving up.