Preface By Laura Hannon Manmade, artificial, inspired, literal.

Pulsing through our veins, penetrating our lungs - art is ancient, common, mythological yet has a powerful stance on who we are and what world we live in. Art inspires the pessimist and optimist within, while whole heartedly intending realism. The depths of passion, imagination and mere being are beyond human optimisation but are visible to the naked eye. The written word expresses a multitude of emotions without being intended to any degree. It is said that the limit of ourselves is the limit of our words. Without the freedom of expression, communication or individuality our minds would remain futile, our tongues starved of the passion of oratory, our very being would remain in a state of indifference. In which the way a person writes delineates an array of feelings, worries, joys and sorrows - yet when the rose tinted class is removed, the raw emotion is revealed. The effect of time has altered what art consists of - modern mediums of communication, architecture, colloquial language, the essence of life itself is bound by society to exist but evolves as time and the course of humanity makes its pathway forward. Art in its simplest form can be detrimental or mesial. One word can inspire a nation to rise; others can crush a rebellion instantly. Society is made up of many featuring components and like all masterpieces has many parts and isnt built in a day. What we are to this world can be defined by how we accept art and its pretences. Art represents every fibre of our being; to reject art is to reject life. Every person is an artist. Your life, your choices, your person is a story, a story that is only but yours to control. Life is the most beautiful work of art, simple, complicated, substantial or bare it varies, quite litteraly, from sunrise to sunset. Without art, society in its sort would cease to function. We as a people would cease to function. Art is the painting in the gallery, the vase on the mantel piece, the opera singer on stage but it also beats in our chest, soars through the sky and is scribbled on the wall of the abandoned factory. Art is us. We are art. Art cannot be defined. Who is to say, ones personally opinions are poorly executed or their deepest passions are abhorrent. One who cannot appreciate all art, cannot appreciate any art. Look behind the words, the ink or the surface and find the true art - the art reserved for those whom most appreciate it. Art is useless, worthless even senseless if not inspired. Without a meaning or intent it is simple there. When accepted, rejected or simply ignored by society, it serves a purpose. No matter what the scale of importance it represents, art can be the most useless tool in which can inspire the world.