The Artrovert Blog

Written and published by Artemis Sere. Art, Philosophy and Photography.

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Conquest Harmony is foreign to us. Given all mortal possibilities and limitless opportunities, we choose greed. We speak of natives and naturals, expatriats and ironclad patriotism. We divide by state lines, align to banners and prophets to perpetuate our ravenous hunger. In God we trust; in each other we suspect…

What You’re Worth

What You’re Worth It’s the first profit check that I remember seeing. I know there were others with my first book, but I don’t recall them. They were significant, for sure, but this one stands out the brightest of them all. A resounding thud on a piece of recycled paper….

Sweat + Sacrifice = Success

Sweat + Sacrifice = Success  is the math painted on their wall. With blissful exuberance, she tosses wildly, apparently happy to be part of the equation. He stares buff and confident at a conquerable horizon. I run in place for hours, and never seem to get the result they sell….


Who are you Who have no anchor No past, no future No happy ever after Of uncommon roads And off-beaten plots Lost the path to light, Hope left alone To rot Who are you Without needle Without way No flicker of hope The white spun gray Lost in phantom forests…

The Behelders Project

The Behelders Project Abstract: An attempt to do 40 photo shoots with human subjects to educate, inform and expand photography experience for an upcoming book of mine. If you’re interested in participating, and live relatively close to the Twin Cities (or really want to be involved and will pay for…


inflation far beyondthe clutches of thissullen gravitywe accelerateawaytoward the unknownwith escape velocityof lives blownapart, there we tack our hopesto lonely satellitesand fragile rocketshipsracing directlyinto the mysteriousvastness wherehuman hearts dare to trespasswhere less and moreare at constant wara violent antithesisracing from a dyingcore


sera she climbs the stairmaster in heels and shadeshiding the years of decayand deep bruisingunder her prettyfacade, but below,the mirror is a crackaway from shattered,luck bordering on black,hope a tattered cocktaildress, hung as lifelessand desperate as gravity tugsher into rugged orbitswhere collision in guaranteedveins and shame destinedto bleed, puddlingindiscreetlyto stain…