Not because I’m fine with what’s happening — but because I refuse to give up what makes life worth living.
Here in 2025, in America, things have not felt this heavy — this anxious, this tense — in anyone’s living memory. The social stress, the psychological strain, the deep undercurrent of dread that hums beneath everything we do… it's real. And yes, we can blame a huge portion of that on the current presidential administration.
But to be clear: he — they — are not the root of the problem. They are the loudest symptom of a disease that’s been festering in the American body for decades. What Dear Leader has done is antagonize that disease to the point that its symptoms can no longer be ignored. They've become part of daily life. Unavoidable. Infectious. This moment may be unprecedented in its intensity, but the groundwork was laid long ago. All he's done is light the match.
And the fire spreads faster than ever thanks to the internet. Thanks to social media. Every person with a phone has a platform now. Some louder than others, sure, but more or less equally accessible. That changes the temperature. That stokes the fire.
So I get it when I see the posts. The rage. The existential panic. The people yelling from digital rooftops:
What the fuck are we doing?
We need to stop everything and rebel.
We need to shift the energy. Fight back. Refuse to participate in this collapse. It wasn’t perfect before, but this is a disaster.
Why are we doing anything else?
Valid points.
But here’s the core of what I want to say: I continue to make my art — not because everything is fine, but because it isn’t.
In fact, I create in spite of everything. Maybe even because of it.
I don’t make art to change the entire world. I’m not that delusional. But I do make art to contribute something that isn’t more rage, more confusion, more bile toward those who think differently than I do. I create because I want to put beauty into a world that seems to be choking on its own ugliness.
And just to head off the inevitable misreading: No, I am not making art because I support Dear Leader. I am not joyfully marching forward under his grotesque vision for America. I am not patting him on the back as I photograph and edit and publish.
Quite the opposite.
Dear Leader is a walking embarrassment. A grotesque abomination of a president. And I say that having criticized every president in my lifetime (trusting the gov't isn't high on my To Do list on any given day, and never has been) this one makes the others look like Pulitzer Prize winners.
While he waddles around peddling discount merch and middle-school-grade ambitions, while he breathes life into the ugliest corners of our culture with hate and narcissism, I will still make my art.
Not because I’m blind. Not because I’m naive.
But because making art is what I must do.
I’m not pretending this is normal. I’m not comfortable. I’m not tuning out. But I also don’t believe in putting down my camera, closing my businesses, and going quiet just because the world feels broken. That’s how they win. That’s how despair takes hold. That’s how we lose the good stuff that reminds us why we even care in the first place.
Until the day a fucking bomb drops on my neighbor’s house, until we’re literally in a full-scale martial law scenario if that's what's coming, I’m going to keep creating. I’m going to keep educating those who want to learn from me. I’m going to keep sharing beauty and meaning where I can.
Because that’s what I do.
Because it matters.
Because they’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.
And until that day comes, I’ll be here. Making art. In spite of everything.
And don't come at me with your political pacifiers and collectively brain-farted dogmatic ideology – you know full well what I'm talking about.