COLORED PENCIL ON BRISTOL
24 INCHES X 40 INCHES
Gravity. The force of agony through which we hope to enamor them. The magnetic pull we emit on those watching. It’s the hope that their eyes might fall on us. It’s the cry that becomes physical. The desire that can no longer be contained. True gravity is irresistible to those affected. No one can escape its grasp. And we hope our gravity will be the same. But there’s no guarantee. Our gravity is not absolute. But we wish it were. Our gravity is finite according to our own power though we desire it not to be. If we were truly gravity, our force would be perfect. There would be no alternative, there would be no volition. But our gravity is subject to the frailty of the human. We try, we push, we work endlessly on this force yet there is always something lacking. But this will never stop us. Our gravity is engineered by the drive within us. It is the drive to get their attention. It is the ache to pull them in. It is the emotional pulling that becomes physical. Please, fall into us. Be subdued by our force swirling around you. Rush over us with abandon. Buy what we sell. Want what we have to offer. Please be swept up. Please shoot a glance. I beg you. Look At Me.