It's dangerous for some artists to even think about constructing a self-portrait.

I had heard that there was a lot rebuilding going on in Srebrenica. I do not mean rebuilding buildings. Rebuilding lives.

So I went there. I have a friend who lives in Srebrenica.

Having rebuilt a few of them myself. Friendships. Lives. Buildings. The buildings were easy.

What is a culture war.

It isn't true that all the men and all the boys of Srebrenica were executed. Most of the men and most of the boys in Srebrenica were executed.

A culture war is flesh and bone and graves and agony and grief and drama and rebuilding. Lives.

There were males who hid out. Survivors.

I knew there would be.

Hiding out is something I am quite good at.

It is rarely done alone.

I take pieces of the past and cut them up and pound on them with hammers and burn them and take those ashes and sing to them and mix them with acrylic and then I throw all of this at a canvas in the middle of a vast forest because the trees don't care what my paint hits or doesn't hit.

Sometimes it hits the canvas.

Sometimes everything I do gets rained on and pissed on and dragged around by dogs and thrown to the wind.

I want you to see it like a piece of trash that blew around you on the street and something compelled you to reach down and pick it up and stare at the thing.

You do not know why. It's okay. No one does.

That is what I want my Art to do.

Nothing more.

Maybe rebuild Srebrenica.