To me personally this felt like poetry about identity. Having problems with how what you do as an artist defines you. Every decision speaks about who you are. How can that be so devastatingly hope-crashing. To make something that enters this world as an inferior experience, in a world so saturated to the brim with grandeur and colorful, exciting success stories. Committing to complete something finite, flawed, and limited. Something boring. Accepting yourself as a person who is not a main character, a person that makes things that don’t really stand out, in a world that celebrates standing out. Avoiding that fate and doing nothing: having no voice, no self-expression, nothing. Finally embracing having to go through a difficult process and making something. Something within the boundaries of your decisions and budget. Saying to yourself that you will be your friend, even knowing that we are naturally our biggest and most difficult critics.