"From eras bygone, those who live in the ravines of art, did find validation in the paint of blood"
Human beings were never predators.Not by a long shot.At best (or worst), they are scavengers, or wily opportunists, and in that aspect it is quite the surprise that humans found power in blood.A truly primal mind to dwell on it, yes, but there is quite the joke to those who pry.
The new ones who tentatively make their first carve, smothering the sting in bravado are in for an epiphany.Blood does not obey its keeper.The cut on one's palm does not bleed out like the stories professed.It reluctantly obliges a few drops and winks out.
After the first sense of betrayal wears off, one is left with a clearer head.
Art was never for the weak of heart.
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