“If A̵R̷T I̷S̵ D̸E̷A̶D̵, ᵂʰᵃᵗ K͠iL̸l̀e̸D̷ I̵t̵?”
💀 Blood on the canvas. Screaming pixels. Art was dissected by those who worship concepts more than the act of creation. Art was starved by algorithmic feasts. Art was twisted into a shadow of itself, trying to please the invisible eye. Art was choked on its own ambition, desperate to matter in a world where everything’s cheap and nothing’s precious. Art never died. It just fractured.













