Twenty twenty-five bleeds into me like a half-lit nightmare,
Stephen King and Tim Burton laughing in the corners.
AI hums in the air, a static pulse I cannot unhear.
I want to scream and break the sky…
…but the real and the familiar fragments of me rein temperance in, in quiet revolt.
Twenty twenty-six waits like a shadowed carnival, and I am here,
trembling with light in a society fractured by entropy…
…still standing.
When I started exploring textures and analog styles using mobile camera and editing apps like Mextures and DistressedFX a decade ago and Hipstamatic closer to two decades ago, I remember the beef among photographers about how it was cheating.
Even when shooting DSLR or scanning 35mm negatives and importing to iPhone to manually edit creations, on deviantART it was utter blasphemy to call that work photography… which is the majority of the reason I left that site (alongside the unnecessary drama, petty competition and childishness of it all).
I remember the same attitudes when the DSLR was introduced as a more convenient option for shooting (as compared to film) back in the nineties, and even more strongly opposed by what I like to call the “haughty and holier than thou professional” photographers (many of whom had never been published, mind you).
It was all just a whole lot of projection… yet here we are in 2025’s much broader version of those things, getting ready to wake up to a 2026 that looks like a Stephen King and Tim Burton co-conspired reality, and I now find myself itching to raise the same ruckus about AI. I fight the daily urge to scream at the top of my lungs that I hate AI, and that it will absolutely be the death of raw human creativity, not a help or a tool for it.
Mark my words, and I say this not just from the creative part of myself but from the psychology and computer science educated and experienced parts, from the professor in me, and from the emotionally and spiritually evolved pieces of myself, from my entire being and from the depths of my soul:
AI is a mistake of biblical proportions, and not just for creatives.
I have watched what it does to attention, to imagination, to the inner world, to the very scaffolding of how a human becomes themselves. I have already watched it practically eat my child alive, and I banned it from our sphere entirely. I will die on this hill if necessary.
AI may not be evil incarnate, though I have my suspicions that it is, but it will certainly cause more evil than we can stand or cope with to manifest in this already imploding world.
The ASMR, the funny animal and parody videos, and the art may be cute today, but tomorrow it will look like proverbial mushroom clouds around the globe.
With AI more prominently in the mix, the end of true freedom is nearer than you might think… and it is allby design.
Sometimes, even when life isn’t spiraling out of control, it feels like it is. Maybe there’s no reason. And when it happens, there’s almost certainly no rhyme.
So what do we do—especially as artists of any kind—when the world around us reeks of chaos and seems to have lost all its marbles?
Abstract.
No matter what kind of artist you are, no matter your medium or your muse, no matter your level of inspiration (or lack thereof), abstract can be a perfect middle ground to ground your spirit, or wake it up.
The Scenario
Of course you (ok, I) woke up at 12:01 AM for no “apparent” reason—the absolute cosmic middle finger of liminal time, where nothing makes sense and yet everything feels oddly sacred.
Maybe, like me, you didn’t have any looming crises to fret over, or feel any real emotion about waking up at an inconvenient time (or being distracted, if it’s not the middle of the night for you). Spoiler alert: that “no emotion” is still an emotion.
I think—for a lot of us deep feelers, thinkers, philosophers and creatives right now—that numb, unanchored state has a lot to do with the collective dissonance we’re living through. There’s a major divide between those trying to evolve and live with intention, and those still operating from fear, ego, and unchecked reactivity.
Even if we try to stay grounded, we still feel the chaos buzzing around us. We still feel the friction of a world flailing through an identity crisis. And while we may not want to name it all or get swept up in it, we still end up absorbing the noise—because that’s what happens when you’re tuned in to—and transmuting—what others refuse to confront.
Another spoiler alert: things could be fine…if more people paused before projecting, reacted less and reflected more, took accountability for their realities—and how/what they contributed to their creation—and stopped mistaking emotional immaturity for a personality trait.
Alas, for me, that energy—and that emptiness, void of any clear direction, yet full of invisible limits (like everyone else being asleep, so I have to be quiet, for example)—is exactly the kind of blank page that’s just waiting to be painted on.
Literally and metaphorically.
Me? I felt the pull toward abstract watercolor. After a chaotic day juggling real life—and feeling deeply grateful that I don’t have to bend a knee to the public school system or navigate the mess so many parents of school-aged kids are facing—this makes complete sense. Abstract is, after all, what we turn to when logic is exhausted and emotion has no specific name.
Maybe, like me, you’re not uninspired—you’re just not anchored in this moment. Maybe, like me, it feels like you’re floating a little. Untethered. Not because you don’t care or don’t want to create, but because everything around you feels too slippery to hold onto. Too uncertain to frame.
I have come to understand that when that happens, my soul isn’t asking for structure. It’s asking for space. It’s asking for breath. It’s asking for some way—any way—to come home to the present moment without having to name it, define it, or pin it down.
That’s where abstract steps in. Not as a replacement for direction, but as a safe space to reconnect before you try to direct anything at all. In these moments, I’ve found that what’s waiting to be uncovered isn’t something planned or polished, but something feeling-based and rule-free—a piece born from presence, not pressure.
Try this, if you’re in a space like that. ⤵️
A Gentle Framework for Midnight Abstracts
Color Prompt:
Close your eyes and take three deep breaths. Think of the word: “release.” Without judgment, what three colors float into your mind? Even if they’re weird together—especially if they are—let them lead.
Composition Prompt:
Whatever your medium, start simple and let the process unfold.
If you’re shooting photography, don’t force the subject or the composition. Wander your space, and just shoot. Let your eye catch on whatever it catches on—light, shadow, texture, reflections. Let it all—even the clutter—guide you. Try new angles. Blur the focus. Let it be weird. Let it breathe.
Fun photography hack for this kind of energy:
Don’t be afraid to create outrageous effects with tools like Lightroom, Photoshop, or even apps on your phone. These tools aren’t just for polish—they’re wonderful (and especially useful) playgrounds for unlimited texture, distortion, and mood. Perfect for transforming ordinary shots into abstract, emotionally charged pieces.
Lean into the surreal. Add grain. Blow out the exposure. Warp the tones. You might just end up with a visual journal entry that says far more than any perfectly posed image ever could.
If you’re working with mixed media, paints, inks, clay, sketching/drawing, writing, or even scrapbooking or junk journaling—don’t force shape or form. Let your hands (or your heart) lead before your mind starts trying to make sense of it.
I’m drawn to watercolor as I write this post, so when I finish this post and start painting, I’ll start with a layered wash using just one color. Let the water move it. Drop in my second and third colors without intention—just observing how they bloom, resist, or swirl. I’ll add detail only if my hand naturally reaches for the brush again.
Examples of abstract watercolor, following exercises in Kate Leach’s “Creative Abstract Watercolor” book. I have the Kindle edition and would recommend the book 77/10 for inspiration and information, but I’d 1000/10 recommend the PRINT EDITION over Kindle if you’d like to add it to your library.
Let the chaos speak.
Sometimes that’s all it takes—one odd hour, a small canvas (whatever that looks like for you), and a handful of scattered supplies. Water, glue, tape, scrap paper, stickers, markers, pens, brushes…even a few oddly placed objects to capture in still photos on a clear or cluttered surfaces. It doesn’t have to be planned or polished.
All it really takes is a little setting of soul-driven intention, then a little courage to move that intention into action, to make something unexpectedly beautiful from what doesn’t make any logical sense.
No rules or expectations required. Just presence. Just honesty. Just the courage to let what’s inside you move—without needing to explain it first.
That’s the beauty of abstract. It doesn’t ask you to be understood. It just asks—and allows—you to be real; and that’s the truest art there is.
You don’t know what someone is dealing with…what they’re going through. Sometimes a person can be confident and also anxious, look healthy but be sick, look happy and be miserable, look good but feel ugly, act hopeful but feel hopeless, smile and be broken, or never smile at all and be happy… You don’t know. So unless you ask, don’t judge. Don’t assume. Sometimes a person you see every single day or think you know very well can be fighting battles you know nothing about.
catacosmosis 