Art. A single word containing three measly letters can be such a loaded potato packed with buttery interpretation. A smorgasbord of inked lathered feather quill inquiries, rich sapless clay figures, gentle and brittle brush strokes against coarse canvas, image exposed film stock, and frames of that Tik Tok you watched five minutes ago on your For You Page. We are subjected to the object, like a kid at a candy store, yet it’s a potato shop. And we all have a potato, grown from our own ideas. It is planted in your garden, a whole creative plain in your backyard. There are all kinds of beautiful vegetation there, even the rotten foliage has a hidden fantastical face to it, it needs to be revealed, It is not simply found. With your potato, It sprouts when Light comes in, Light comes from any everywhere. Any color, any hue, any angle, every anywhere. You necessarily don’t have control over Light. Light peaks itself through the monotonous clouds of reality, and then It spuds with It and Light meet. Spuds from It make It become so much more than you initially anticipated. For you, is It on a string, connected to a ceiling fan, flying around your room?