We are myself, T, DM, HM, DP, HB, JC, AP, CC and others–real folks nearly all, presenters of Western Art in its protean shades and textures, objects and ideas, probings, disrobings, unloadings and howls, and . . . . as your curator and artist-in-search-of-a-platform, spiritually supported by friends and other compulsive colliders distracted by Fatal Focii–welcome to this so to speak home.

In fact, a WELCOME mat lies at the door of this website, you couldn’t see it but you did virtually pass over. Hear any echoes yet? See any mirrors? Hear voices? music? Those are all futures waiting for content, as said curator struggles with the library’s WordPressed baffles. A Western Bluebird flies through the portal and whistles a name from way inside. Who wouldn’t follow?

Decent curators locate and interrelate aesthetic and sociopolitical ideas, real and metaphorical shades and textures, all in their pursuit of greater understanding and ever more probing questions. This site won’t be doing that. This world is literally a mazing, a maze of choices made from the caves to Mars, some bringing mind-blowing beauty, mountain forests, magma turning to islands, digitally dug orgasms, but others causing disintegration at every turn, calamity and death, wars with robot slaves, and all the leaders dressing up for war and wealth-to-come on a handful of bogus issues.

And this, just an outpost, a collection of outpostings in need of air.

T