contemplating ugliness.

Art doesn’t have to be beautiful.

In fact, art that is hideous is much more powerful, and moving. Hideous art jolts us from our comfort zone, destabilizes us, robs us of our bearings. And in that fleeting moment before we return to an existence where we pacify ourselves with our unseeing eyes, it forces us to think, in the most unsettling and painful way.

I like ugliness, as long as it is meaningful. Because in the grotesque, you sometimes find beauty so profound, it trumps something that gives itself away too early in the game.

Beauty is overrated. It neither enriches us nor gives us anything real and substantial to hold on to.

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