Everything. Everyday. All The Time.

MATHAGULATIONS FOR THE UNINVITED 

This is not an invitation. This is a notice. Pew Pew Pew.

We are in the midst of a second Renaissance. It is not being curated by a velvet-robed committee in a white cube. It is not blessed by the critical darlings of the last century. This one is being coded, streamed, and forged in studios by the very people they spent decades locking out.

The gates are off their hinges. The bouncer is unemployed.

We are the artists who stopped begging for a seat at a table we never built. We are building our own tables. And then we’re selling the work right off them, directly to the person who wants it. We work with galleries when it serves us. We sell from our studios because we can. The choice is the point.

The old faith is crumbling. That decrepit model of manufactured mystique, of holding your breath until an artist dies to finally turn a profit, it’s a gasping, bloated relic. Watch the grand temples of art, built on that foundation, now frantically pivoting. Pop-ups, online viewing rooms, rosters that change with the wind. They are learning, in a panic, what we have always known: agility beats grandeur. A nimble mind will outmaneuver a heavy wallet every time.

And the collectors? They’re waking up. They are realizing they don’t need an “art advisor” with a fancy accent to tell them what to feel or a curator, for where to place it. They are buying art that does something to them. Call it a resonance. A gut punch. A soul thing. They want to know the living, breathing artist of their own generation, not worship a ghost.

This is not a trend. It is a tectonic shift. A restructuring.

This Renaissance is not trickling down. It is erupting from the bottom, from the ground up, from the studios of those who have decided they are no longer supplicants.

We are the architects now.

The future is not being curated.

It’s being built.