Consider the concept of art as a universal language, encompassing a multitude of forms and variations, akin to dialects. In this context, I identify primarily as a writer, yet I devote considerable effort to understanding other 'dialects,' particularly visual art.

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But we live in a world where so much of what people want to see if everything fast, fun and for them before they get bored and move on. So it is hard for me to commit to a dialect that might be dying out.

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I've identified as a writer by trade and a thinker by nature since high school; a time when I began to explore the depths of my own thoughts. This exploration often feels solitary, as the mind's intricacies are uniquely personal. No one can enter with you. You can share snippets with those around you but you can't share that same depth of coming to the realisation of something and then cutting that thought wide open, climbing inside of it and diving deeper.

It is a visceral experience of understanding. It can barely be described in words. And even if it could, it would be too long. People want fast. Reading takes too long.

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Visual art offers a means to communicate the intricate 'noise' of my thoughts. Despite being a silent medium, it allows me to convey the tumultuous sounds of my creative process. My approach, which I half-jokingly refer to as "Hurricane Danya," involves claiming a space and surrounding myself with an ever-growing collection of items. This organized chaos is both soothing and overwhelming, a visual and auditory overload that mirrors my internal state. Yet, when it comes to articulation, words are my forte.

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The journey of curating this exhibition has certainly been a lesson in linguistics.

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The curatorial process is a multifaceted form of communication, akin to mastering various dialects of art's universal language. Just as I navigate between writing and visual art, a curator moves between different artistic mediums, each with its unique vocabulary and syntax. Curation is not just the act of selecting and organizing artworks; it's a deep, introspective dialogue that mirrors the solitary journey of thought and introspection I described. It's about creating a narrative or a conversation that allows for the depth and complexity of individual experiences to be shared with an audience.

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In this light, a curator acts as a translator or mediator, making the invisible visible and the inaudible audible. They delve into the mind's isolating spaces, the unique realms of artists' thoughts and emotions, and bring forth a shared experience that can be collectively understood. This process mirrors the introspective journey I undertake as a thinker and writer, but it extends beyond personal solitude to create a communal space of understanding and appreciation.

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Furthermore, the concept of "Hurricane Danya" can be likened to the curatorial process. The curator claims a space—be it a gallery, a museum, or a digital platform—and fills it with a selection of artworks that, while seemingly chaotic or overwhelming at first glance, are intentionally placed to create a coherent and stimulating experience. This organized chaos requires a deep understanding of both the individual pieces and the overarching narrative, similar to knowing where everything lies within a personal clutter. The curator, through this process, aims to evoke the visceral experience of understanding, allowing the audience to "dive in" and explore deeper meanings and connections.

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Thus, curation is an extension of the personal journey of introspection and creation into a public realm. It's about sharing those deep, often indescribable thoughts, shapes, and feelings through a carefully crafted exhibition that invites others to explore, understand, and feel alongside the curator and the artists. In this way, curation is a bridge between the solitary and the shared, the personal and the communal, translating the complex language of art into a dialogue that resonates with a wider audience.

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