Art doesn’t need a purpose.
It’s not a tool, a weapon, or decoration.
In every struggle, art wins—not by force, but by presence.
It’s not created; it’s revealed.
In light through broken windows, cracks in walls, forgotten silences.
Abandoned places aren’t empty—they’re full of waiting stories, of marks that endure.
Rust, stains, fragments—each has something to say.
We just need a slower gaze, a deeper listening.
We don’t give meaning to things; art calls us, watches us.
Sometimes it asks: do you see me?
It doesn’t need stages or frames.
It breathes in margins, thresholds, pauses.
Wherever there is attention, there is art.
Whoever truly looks, even briefly, becomes part of its silent dance.
Because art isn’t a means.
It’s a message.
A heartbeat.
A presence reminding us that even abandonment
can hold beauty.
Let it pass through us.