Saint of Newcastle University

‘Consider the audience’ in art school contexts does not make sense to me. I am not in the business of advertisement. I am also selective in who I want to seduce. Some days, no one at all. And even then, seduction varies. To what extent and in which way do I want to move?
I get very prickly when suggestions are put to me by way of professional advice by some art world yardstick.
Why study art, in the institution, if i do not want to become it? There are a plethora answers to that which would upset the nobility of many a professional artist. Such as “ i don't know, i just ended up here” or “out of curiosity”. Does it then follow that i don't care? Care about what? Maybe the things i care about i try to protect, protect especially from the capitalization of professionalism. The things i care about, maybe i don't speak them at all, and if i do speak them, i don't speak them right on purpose. Because i love them. How not to speak right? Well, speak too much. Over speak. Over speak and over spill. I hate the voice overs in documentaries in the same way i hate to check my privilege. I am not woke. I don't say grace before eating a meal and i don't savour each moment of my life in an appreciative mindfulness. I’m new money. I regulate myself differently to you. My constellation of care is pinned to the ceiling in a different manner to that of the art schools. I am not just a scorpio. I'm possessed. I don't wait for god, i let her pass through me. Waiting for god would be me anticipating the audience. I don't make for the anonymous, i make from the anonymous; I am the audience. 
When i was gestating in the black sky, i was told before entering the world “you will be a person”. And so here i try my best to be a person, not an artist, not a saint, not a leftie, not a this or that, all those ideal definitions that pull me into place. They are the not-me of my posture, the not-me of my gait, the not-me of my countenance.
The personhood of a plant.
And i only ever get corner of the eye glimpses of the animal that i am. How can something with the posture-gait-countenance of a primate in fact be a sort of fish from the abyss?
I don't know, but here it is and here i am.
I pursue the shadow that hides in my face.
The circle outlined by objects decides my place.
Situates me.
But i can go anywhere. And i've been everywhere.
Draw the circle. Its aforementioned objects are ‘artist’ ‘saint’ ‘leftie’ ‘this’ ‘that’.
Boring? Yes. Very.
I almost for a moment there, in my consistency, created an air of integrity.
The integrity of a lineage.
A lineage of abysmal sea plants.