the slight tilt of the horizon reminds me this is not a painting. this was not and is not a dream. the brush strokes are not in fact strokes of paint but strokes of light. when did my art become an unattainable form? my friends, the littlest ones, they are led to believe it is beyond them, while we are trying to convince them it is not. what used to be a form of privilege for those who could find the money and the time for film and developing, is now an instantly gratifying media. light replaces paint. photographs replace memory. and the line between a painting and a photograph is blurred to the point of interest and debate.
brenda fassie :: "nomakajani"
