Art lives beyond language. It thrives in the textures of paint, the geometry of space, the rhythm of motion, and the quiet defiance of materials. A single piece can evoke a universe of feeling, bypassing logic and tapping directly into human emotion. And yet, artists are frequently asked to do something that feels almost contradictory: to write about their work. The artist statement, far from being an unnecessary formality, is a key that unlocks the essence of your practice for others. It doesn’t diminish the mystery of your work. On the contrary, when crafted authentically, it deepens the viewer’s connection to it.
For many visual artists, the idea of translating intuition into text can feel alien or even reductive. Visual language often feels more truthful than words. However, an artist statement isn’t about reducing your art to a paragraph of facts or justifying your choices. It's about guiding others toward a richer experience of your world. It invites curators to understand the intent behind your compositions, collectors to connect with your narrative, and audiences to feel your emotional landscape more fully. Rather than explaining the art, it echoes its spirit.
Writing an artist statement isn’t an academic obligation or an act of compliance. It’s a declaration of presence. A well-written statement doesn’t list achievements or decipher symbolism line by line. It captures the emotional tone of your practice, the patterns that reappear in your work, the questions you chase across canvases, and the obsessions that refuse to let you go. It is not a footnote to the artwork but a part of its ecosystem. When it works, the statement becomes as alive as the piece itself, another extension of the creative force that drives you.
Still, writing can feel like an intrusion into your creative process. It asks you to pause, turn inward, and articulate what often emerges from silence or sensation. But this act of reflection is also one of revelation. It shows you what lies beneath your practice. It reveals why you return to certain forms, themes, or materials. It helps you trace the lines between inspiration and intention, between concept and creation.
Mapping the Soul of Your Practice
To begin the process of writing an artist statement, start not with complete sentences but with a practice of discovery. A blank page is less intimidating when seen as a playground rather than a performance space. Begin with a mind map. Let this be a raw, unfiltered outpouring of thoughts and images. Surround yourself with your work. Absorb its presence. Then start jotting down words, phrases, sensations, contradictions, and emotional tones that echo through your pieces. What subjects haunt you? What colors do you return to again and again? What moments sparked your recent series? There’s no need to organize. This is not a draft. It’s an excavation.
Mind mapping allows your subconscious to lead the way. You might uncover unexpected motifs like a recurring interest in erosion, a quiet admiration for symmetry, or a tendency to explore memory through layered textures. These fragments will not be the statement itself, but they are the soil from which it will grow. This process is your creative archaeology, helping you uncover the truths you may not have consciously named. The more authentic and unfiltered your notes, the more powerful the eventual language of your statement.
Even after this initial outpouring, it’s natural to hit blocks. You might begin to write, only to find your words slipping into the generic or the overly academic. You may even find yourself echoing phrases you've heard in art school critiques or exhibition catalogs. When that happens, change the medium. Speak instead of writing. Talk aloud. Record yourself. Ask a friend to interview you about your work as if they know nothing. Speak with the ease and emotion you would use when telling a story to someone who truly listens. Don’t worry about coherence. What matters is honesty.
When you listen back to the recording, pay close attention. Often, in casual speech, we stumble upon the most striking turns of phrase. These are the moments when your voice is closest to your truth. Transcribe the sections that resonate. Let them form the spine of your statement. They are alive with rhythm and sincerity. You’re not building a thesis; you’re expressing your reality.
In this phase, remember that clarity will always serve you better than cleverness. The temptation to hide behind jargon or abstract terminology is real, especially in a world where conceptual frameworks are celebrated. But too often, abstraction clouds meaning rather than enhancing it. If your work engages with a particular movement or theory, name it. Then ground it. Tell us what it means in your studio, in your choices, in your process. Don’t rely on terms like transcendence or liminality without anchoring them in experience. A reader should never feel like they need a degree to understand your statement.
Language inflated by theory often masks the fear that your work won’t speak for itself, the fear of being misunderstood, or the fear of vulnerability. But the truth is, your work is already valid. Your role in the statement is to translate the emotional and intellectual pulse of your practice into words that invite others to step closer, not stand back.
Crafting with Intention: Refinement, Voice, and Evolution
Once you’ve gathered fragments, spoken insights, and mind map revelations, begin shaping them into a narrative. Don’t try to be exhaustive. You are not writing a comprehensive biography. You are creating a window, not a wall. Let your statement offer a glimpse, a taste, an emotional impression. Introduce the recurring elements of your practice materials, subjects, themes, tensionsbut leave practice materialsYour goal is to entice, not explain away.
Pay attention to the voice. Write in the present tense as much as possible. The present tense breathes life into your words. It tells your audience that your practice is alive, still unfolding, still in motion. Your language should have movement. Use verbs that are direct and energetic. Let your sentences evoke the same visceral feeling that your artwork does. Precision will always trump complexity. If you write something that feels overworked or unnatural, trust that instinct. Rewrite until it sounds like something only you could say.
Once a rough version is complete, set it aside. Time and distance can bring clarity. When you return to it, read it aloud. Better yet, use a text-to-speech tool. Hearing your words spoken by another voice will expose awkward phrasing, inconsistencies, and sections that may feel forced. Listening allows you to evaluate with a degree of objectivity. You’ll hear what flows and what stumbles.
Now comes a step that requires courage: feedback. Share your statement with three different types of readers. First, someone who knows your work wellperhaps a mentor or a fellow artistwho can identify whether your statement aligns with your creative output. Second, a skilled writer or editor who can help refine grammar, tone, and flow. Third, someone unfamiliar with your work. This person will offer the purest insight into how your statement communicates to a fresh audience.
Each reader offers a unique perspective. Collect their impressions without defensiveness. If something feels off to all three, it’s worth revisiting. Their confusion or curiosity can point you to sections that need clarity or depth. Feedback is not a threat to your voice is a mirror that helps you sharpen it.
Understand that your artist statement is not a fixed document. Just as your work evolves, so should your statement. A version written for a residency may require more introspection and exploration of the process. A version for a gallery might emphasize themes nd visual language. A public commission may benefit from more accessible, inclusive phrasing. Adapt the tone, scale, and structure of your statement depending on its context, without losing its essence.
Your statement is not a summary of your identity. It’s a tool for connection. It doesn’t need to unveil every corner of your practice. Instead, it should shimmer with intention and integrity. Let it mirror your artworknot in content, but in feeling. Let it linger in the reader’s mind the way a painting might haunt their memory.
When crafted with thought, authenticity, and courage, an artist statement becomes more than a formality. It becomes a form of art itself synthesis of language and vision, a beacon for the king to enter your creative realm. It’s not a chore. It’s a chance. A chance to articulate not just what you make, but why it matters. It invites others into your atmosphere and allows them to breathe there for a while. That is the true art of the artist statement.
Embracing the Vulnerability of Language in Artistic Expression
Writing about your art is an act of rare intimacy. While a painting or sculpture might hang on a gallery wall open to limitless interpretation, the act of articulating its essence in words requires a kind of bravery. Visual work gives room to breathe, to wonder, to project. Language, on the other hand, often demands a fixed stance. This transition from fluid visual to structured verbal can stir unease for many artists. Yet within that friction exists an opening chance to craft a personal, meaningful space of opening amidst the wild terrain of interpretation.
To create such a space, an artist must first accept vulnerability as a necessity, not a weakness. But this isn’t about revealing every personal wound or narrating every formative experience. Rather, it involves recognizing the persistent, quiet urgency that fuels your creative impulse. What draws you to this gesture and not another? Why these materials, this composition, that silence? Why does the work feel necessary now?
These aren’t rhetorical questions. They act as catalysts, breaking open insight and guiding you toward clarity. Through honest exploration, your artist statement evolves into more than just a paragraph for a grant application or a line in a catalog. It becomes a living map of your creative landscape, a mirror that reflects the unique rhythm of your voice.
The temptation to use academic or overly stylized language is common, especially when trying to sound serious or credible. But true clarity arises not from ornamentation, but from authenticity. Your materials carry embedded meaning. Your process is not a sterile routine; it is an unfolding of emotion, thought, and instinct. Your influences are not just reference points, but forces shaping the essence of your practice.
Instead of defaulting to phrases like your work is 'interested in temporality,” say what you mean. Maybe time haunts you. Maybe you watch how the screen across your studio and how that shifting light reminds you of something lost or longed for. That’s the truth worth capturing. Abstraction can cloud meaning. Specificity reveals it.
There’s often a fear that being too specific may alienate readers unfamiliar with your techniques or themes. The opposite is true. When you write about the visceral elements of your practice heat of metal beneath your palms, the rhythm of practice cloth, the uncertainty of mixing pigmentsyou draw the reader in. They may not share your materials, but they recognize texture, sensation, and presence. They feel invited, not excluded.
The act of writing becomes, then, not a separate chore but an extension of your creative process. It mimics your layering, your rhythm, and your editing. The artist statement is a living document that holds just as much truth as any finished piece in your portfolio. It demands care, attention, and revision. It should feel as alive and dynamic as your artwork.
Crafting a Resonant and Purposeful Artist Statement
When shaping an artist statement that resonates, start with the essentials. Identify your medium and materials with intention. Speak to why they matter, what emotional or conceptual weight they carry. Reveal the themes or questions that continuously reappear in your work. Explore what drives your curiosity, what unresolved tension keeps you creating.
Once the foundation is clear, consider the style and tone of your language. Choose verbs that pulse with energy. Avoid static phrases. Don’t just say you “examine displacement,” say you “carve fragile homes into shifting terrain.” Avoid saying your work “engages with systems.” Say instead that you “unravel rigid structures, searching for the seams where identity slips through.” This is not about a poetic flourish for its own sake. It’s about articulating the truth with precision and feeling.
Language should not settle into stale patterns. Avoid the clichés and jargon that dilute meaning. If you’ve seen a phrase a hundred times before, it’s likely too worn to carry your unique voice. Reclaim your vocabulary from the grey zone of convention. You are not simply “inspired” or “fascinated.” You are compelled, confronted, immersed, disrupted, and invigorated. Find words that unsettle and clarify at once.
But as you aim for vibrancy, be mindful of mythmaking. The artist statement is not a personal history or a grand narrative of your life’s work. It is a current snapshot, single pane in the evolving mosaic of your pracsnapshotdoesn’t need to explain everything. Allow for nuance. Make space for what remains unspoken. Let your statement suggest rather than summarize.
When discussing your materials or methods, ground your descriptions in the sensory. Don’t say you use charcoal. Say how the dust clings to your fingertips, how the pressure of the stick alters your breathing, how smudging becomes a meditation on impermanence. Let the reader feel the work, not just read about it.
Writing with this level of intention isn’t sentimental’s powerful. Words must be as weighted as your yosentimentals. They must cut through pretense and deliver meaning with clarity. Language becomes a tool of transformation, not merely transmission.
Sound also matters. The rhythm of your writing carries as much power as the content itself. Allow variation. Let long, winding sentences breathe beside short, stark declarations. Use repetition with care, as you might repeat marks or motifs in your work, to guide attention and evoke emotional echoes. Language, like art, has movement. Make sure your statement dances rather than drags.
As you edit and revise, consider not just what you are saying but how you are saying it. Does the statement feel dynamic? Is there a sense of unfolding? Does it build tension, release, and resonance? Structure is vital. Open with curiosity. Let the middle offer complexity and depth. Allow the final lines to echo in the reader’s mind like the afterglow of a powerful image.
Sometimes clarity requires starting fresh. Begin again from an image, a sensation, or a contradiction. Let your entry point shift. This can often unlock a new cohesiveness, a deeper resonance.
Adapting Your Voice for Purpose and Audience
Your artist statement does not exist in a vacuum. It must evolve and adapt depending on where it will be read and by whom. The way you describe your work in a residency application might differ from how you present it in a museum catalog or a public installation. This flexibility is not a betrayal of authenticity, is a demonstration of fluency.
If you are an authenticity residency, emphasize your process. Highlight the rituals, risks, and questions that guide your creative development. Show how your work grows and shifts, what uncertainties you are embracing. Let the statement reflect your openness to experimentation and dialogue.
In academic or curatorial contexts, a nod to relevant theory may be useful. But don’t let references overshadow your voice. Mention theory only when it deepens understanding, and do so succinctly. Avoid hiding behind jargon. The aim is always to clarify, not to obscure.
When writing for a public audience, prioritize accessibility. Strip away internal shorthand. Speak plainly and evocatively. Let the work meet its viewers on human terms, with clarity and invitation. Readers are more likely to engage when they feel welcomed rather than tested.
These different iterations of your statement should all share your core voice. What changes is not your identity, but your expression of it. Just as your work may look different in a minimalist white cube than on a weathered city wall, your language must shift in register while staying rooted in truth.
And for the artist who doesn’t yet know what the work fully meansbegin anyway. The process of writing has the power to illuminate. It can reveal hidden patterns, recurring motifs, and unnamed desires. It brings subconscious choices into conscious light. Writing becomes a means of artistic clarity, not compromise.
Ultimately, remember that your artist statement is not a translation. It is an expansion. It stretches the reach of your work beyond the visual, into the imaginative space of language. A well-crafted statement does not dilute mystery; it deepens it. It carries the scent of your studio, the heat of your questions, the rhythm of your making.
Your words, like your materials, are chosen tools. Use them not to explain but to invite, to resonate, to reveal. Let your statement move with the same pulse as your art. Let it challenge, comfort, and compel. Let it be an extension of your creative worldalive, distinct, unforgettable.
Embracing the Living Nature of Artist Statements
Art is a living, breathing force, and the language we use to describe it must reflect that vitality. An artist statement should never be a static declaration set in stone. Instead, it should be seen as a dynamic expression that evolves alongside your creative practice. When you regard your statement as something fixed, you risk trapping your work in a past version of yourself, rather than allowing it to stretch forward into new terrain. Much like a sketch that captures a moment in time without defining the final piece, your statement should serve as a snapshot of where you currently stand in your artistic journey.
The real power of an artist statement lies in its ability to communicate the evolving interplay between intention and interpretation. While a piece of art might originate from instinct, emotional memory, or cultural critique, your statement is the space where you can speak to those roots with clarity and honesty. This isn't about unmasking the work or demystifying your process entirely. It's about offering insight without giving away every answer. Readers don’t expect you to unravel all the layers. Instead, they’re looking for a glimpse into what drives you and how your perspective is shifting.
The desire to chart artistic growth linearly is understandable, but creativity rarely unfolds in straight lines. More often, it flows in unpredictable waves, marked by pauses, ruptures, echoes, and returns. As you articulate this kind of development, resist the urge to explain every turn. Focus instead on the emotional or conceptual catalyst for change. What happened in the studio that nudged you toward a new medium? When did a personal experience start seeping into your work in unspoken ways? The story of your evolution doesn't require a tidy arc. It requires honesty about the messiness of change and the courage to speak from that space.
Your artist statement becomes most compelling when it serves not as a grand summation but as a present-tense document. It should mark the ground you currently occupy while leaving room for what comes next. The goal is not to finalize your story but to open it. Let your words suggest momentum, not finality. In doing so, your statement becomes a powerful extension of your voiceone that mirrors your creative rhythm and signals your openness to growth.
Cultivating Meaning Through Influence and Metaphor
One of the more delicate aspects of writing an effective artist statement lies in naming your influences without diminishing the uniqueness of your vision. Too often, influence is reduced to a list of respected names, which does little to deepen understanding. Influence is not about name-dropping. It is about recognizing the echoes that live in your work and mapping the ideas, experiences, and encounters that shape your creative perspective. When you reference an influence meaningfully, you’re not just giving credityou’re offering a lens through which your art can be more richly understood.
Rather than simply stating that you were inspired by a particular artist, describe the moment their work first impacted you. Did a sculpture unsettle you in a way that lingered for weeks? Did a painting mirror an emotion you hadn’t yet named? The goal is not to replicate the work of others but to acknowledge the conversations your art is engaged in, both consciously and unconsciously. By sharing how another artist’s approach provoked thought or challenged your assumptions, you provide readers with a more textured context for your own decisions.
Influence also comes from unexpected places. It may not always be the museum walls or academic texts that leave the deepest impression. Maybe your grandmother’s weaving patterns, the architecture of your childhood neighborhood, or the cadence of city sirens have subtly informed the choices you make in form, texture, or rhythm. These less obvious influences are often the most personal and evocative. When you name them, you’re not only offering a window into your world, but you’re also validating the many ways that culture, memory, and place inform an artist’s vision.
It’s also important to consider how language itself carries tone and resonance. A well-written artist statement doesn’t just explain the work; it mirrors its emotional register. If your art is raw and expressive, the writing should carry that edge without becoming chaotic. If your work leans toward stillness and restraint, your words should reflect that economy. Avoid language that flattens complexity or over-intellectualizes your practice. Your tone should feel like a natural extension of your workmeasured but alive, informed but accessible.
A compelling artist statement doesn't strive for perfection. It embraces nuance. There’s value in language that surprises, that resists easy definition. A phrase that carries a bit of friction can draw readers closer, inviting them to pause and engage more deeply. Your statement should be crafted with the same care you bring to your studio. Every word should earn its place, and every sentence should serve a purpose beyond surface-level explanation.
Above all, clarity and authenticity should guide your writing. Avoid jargon that alienates your reader or phrases that feel performative. The goal isn’t to impress with vocabulary but to connect through sincerity. Readers are drawn to vulnerability that is articulated with precision. That kind of honest articulation creates a lasting impression, one that speaks not only to the intellect but also to the senses.
Writing with Purpose, Editing with Intention
As your artist statement begins to take shape, the revision process becomes essential. Editing is not about sanding down all the texture from your language; it’s about making each sentence sharper, more truthful, and more resonant. Read your draft aloud. Notice where the rhythm falters or where a phrase feels forced. Listen for language that rings hollow or overly polished. Your voice will often reveal what your eyes miss.
Be especially mindful of what to keep and what to cut. Editing isn’t just about trimming word count’s about distilling your message. Each word should count, not decoration. Ask yourself if a sentence advances the understanding of your work or simply fills space. Concise writing doesn’t have to be shallow. When done well, brevity amplifies meaning.
When deciding how long your statement should be, think about the function it serves. A residency application might allow for a longer, more theoretical explanation of your practice. A gallery exhibit or press release will demand a tighter version that highlights your core themes without sacrificing nuance. This isn’t about compromising your voice; it’s about adapting your message while preserving its integrity. Think of it as shifting scale rather than shifting identity.
Consider how your statement will exist across multiple platforms. The ability to translate your core narrative into different formats, it a wall label, website bio, or social media pformatskill that enhances visibility and resonance. Flexibility in language is not about compromise. It’s about finding the most impactful way to express your ideas to varied audiences. Your ability to remain agile while staying rooted in your core message will serve you well in both professional and public contexts.
Tone and voice also adapt depending on the audience. In academic circles, your statement might foreground theory, research, and methodology. In community-based projects, it might emphasize collaboration, accessibility, and impact. In both cases, you are still the same artistbut the way you articulate your vision shifts to meet the moment. This type of responsiveness shows not only self-awareness but also respect for your audience.
Ultimately, your artist statement is more than a piece of writing. It is a reflection of your mindset, your curiosity, and your evolving relationship with your craft. When approached with care, your statement becomes a literary companion to your visual work. It tells the story of how you see the world and how you are shaping it through your art. It invites others to step into that story, not as passive viewers but as participants in a dialogue. If you let your statement remain fluid and true, it becomes a powerful tool. It can open doors, spark conversations, and create connections across space and context. It allows your practice to travel further than you can, acting as a messenger for your values, your questions, and your voice. That is the art of the artist statement in providing all the answers, but in speaking with enough clarity and generosity to make others want to stay and listen.
The Essence of Refinement: Distilling Language Without Diminishing Meaning
Crafting an artist statement is not about simplifying your work for the sake of accessibility; it is about distilling its essence without stripping it of complexity. The act of refinement is not a reduction of meaning but a revelation of intent. Clarity in your statement should not mean predictability or loss of nuance. Rather, it invites the reader into your conceptual world with orientation, not obstruction. If your art is layered, enigmatic, or intentionally elusive, your words can serve as a subtle guide rather than a code to crack.
This process begins not by adding but by subtracting. Just as a sculptor chips away at excess to reveal form, the final stages of writing are about removing what is ornamental or redundant. Reread your statement without editing it immediately. Read with the eyes of a stranger encountering your voice for the first time. Ask yourself whether your statement resonates with intrigue, not insistence. Consider the atmosphere it creates after the final sentence. What emotional texture remains?
Once you move in. What approach is your work with both tenderness and precision? Look for repeated ideas that do not evolve with each mention. Trim sentences that echo rather than build. Revise passive or vague verbs with language that carries momentum. Let every phrase justify its presence. Kill your darlings, the lines you once loved that now feel hollow or decorative. Refinement demands you hold your statement to the same standard you hold your workit must be deliberate, alive, and self-aware.
But editing is not merely technical. It is also ethical. The words you choose to express your identity, background, and creative lineage matter profoundly not only to you but also to the communities your work profoundly affects. Be mindful of how cultural reference is framed. Avoid presenting your heritage as an exotic element for easy intrigue. Identity should be a lived presence in your work, not a curated performance for the reader. This is not about minimizing your story but about resisting its commodification.
The temptation to lean into well-worn phrases that carry cultural or political charge without specificity must be tempered. Words like "navigating identity" or "exploring hybridity," though once evocative, can feel generic if not rooted in a clear context. If you’re expressing duality, illustrate ha how it emerges in your materiality, your color logic, your spatial compositions. Allow identity to emerge through detail, rather than through declaration. Speak not in tropes, but in truths shaped by form.
Crafting Connection: Tailoring Your Statement for Diverse Readers
An artist statement should not be static. It is a living, adaptable piece of writing that changes with context, just as your art shifts with time and environment. Whether it appears in a gallery catalog, a grant application, or on your portfolio website, the tone and scale of your statement should shift without losing its heartbeat. Consider your audience not as an authority to impress, but as a guest in your creative space. Ask yourself what kind of welcome your writing offers. Does it invite curiosity? Does it hold space for reflection, not just interpretation?
When adapting your artist statement for different platforms, think in terms of translation rather than compromise. Condensing your statement into shorter formats should not mean diluting your voice. A one-hundred-word version should carry the same energy and tonal fingerprint as the full-length narrative. Here, metaphor becomes a powerful tool. A well-crafted image can communicate volumes. A sentence like “My practice sits at the intersection of ritual and rupture, stitching fragments into fragile forms” can suggest philosophy, material process, and emotional tenor in one gesture. Such compression is an art form in itself.
As you write with varied audiences in mind, aim for resonance over reach. Choose the language that engages without requiring academic fluency. Avoid jargon that alienates or overwhelms. Trust that poetic simplicity can be more impactful than conceptual density. The best artist statements do not announce their intelligence; they reveal their insight through emotional and structural clarity.
Equally important is outside feedback. Sharing your near-final draft with a trusted reader is not about seeking praise but precision. Choose someone who understands your work but won’t hesitate to tell you when your voice sounds strained or when the statement veers into abstraction without substance. Ask whether your words sound like you, not a theoretical version of you, but the artist in you, notio, in process, in dialogue with the world.
If possible, let someone outside the arts read your statement. This is a powerful litmus test. Does your writing resonate with someone unfamiliar with art-speak? Does it stir curiosity, empathy, or recognition? Art lives in many places beyond galleries and publications. Your statement should be just as mobile, just as porous. It should not require decoding, only presence.
Writing as Mirror: Reflection, Evolution, and Emotional Fidelity
The artist statement is not a static badge of identity; it is a snapshot, a mirror reflecting who you are at a moment in your creative evolution. It is not final. It is not a declaration of completion. It is a touchstone for where you’ve been, and a marker of where your inquiry leads. Archive your earlier drafts. Revisit them over time. These versions reveal how your language and vision changehow the tone grows more assured, the themes more grounded, the metaphors more intimate.
This reflective practice of rewriting your artist statement becomes a secondary form of journaling. It tracks not only your creative practice but your relationship to language, voice, and visibility. You may find that as your materials shift, your vocabulary shifts too. You may notice that emotional tonesgrief, euphoria, restraint, playbecome more or less present. This is not just self-editing; it’s a form of artistic witnessing.
Conclusion
An artist statement is not merely an accessory to your creative practice; it is a living thread that weaves your inner process into language, offering a bridge between intention and perception. When written with care, clarity, and a sense of presence, it becomes an extension of your studio space where material choices, conceptual questionstudioemotional textures are translated into words that invite, not impose. It should not feel separate from your work but grow from the same soil, shaped by the same convictions that guide your hand, eye, and instinct.
As your practice evolves, so too will your statement. Embrace this change. Let each version reflect your current curiosities, your refined sensibilities, your lived truths. Stay attentive to the emotional undercurrent of your writing. Resist the urge to explain everything. Let some parts remain suspended, just as your work often does. And always remember, the purpose of your statement is not to impress, is to connect. It is your voice speaking in another form, offering insight without dilution, and resonance without overstatement. Let's be honest. Let it be alive. Let it carry the same breath as your art. In doing so, your words will not just describe the workthey will belong to it.
