Whenever I look at someone’s artwork, I do what everyone else does: admire it. Superficially, I look at the lines and curves, the use of colors, and the composition, already predisposed to liking something. After all, I made the trip to a gallery or exhibition willingly. Why wouldn’t I like it? Subconsciously, I am already having my hand held by the artist and the little box of text to the side telling me what the artist is trying to convey through their use of pastels and canvas.

INK is not that.