Jennifer Gritt

There is a peculiar rage I feel toward small-thinking creatives. Ones who have thrown in the towel and turned the confining boundaries around them into a security blanket. Ones who don't want to put any effort into the advancement of themselves but still dream the dream. One must possess a certain amount of vitrolic hatred in order to achieve I guess. Anger at the listlessness of artists who have killed their souls. Rage enough to conquer the fear of becoming one of them.