the real drive to art is not aesthetics but
context; both the making and viewing of
is narrative in nature, it aims towards
illuminating a unique connection of ideas

i go to the art gallery and feel nothing. i
think youd be an anomaly if you did feel
something actually. i check the plaques
and see that only a date and the materials
are written, sometimes not even a title
given. later i will look up the artist and their
piece and let its story be felt in my body.
right now though? i am empty. without its
history the artworks value is void to me.

the copy holds no true emotive power
beyond capital structure. it never did
really. why are the galleries filled with
portraits of brit royalty? because thats
all they could trade for their money. it
has little more meaning than a selfie.
post-modernism acknowledges this
defecit of meaning in its gauche critique
but its fault, as always, is that it fails
to make any real effort to resolve it.

capital devours the means by
which meaning is translated:
in order for understanding
to emerge there must first be
a point of cultural connection,
a language for the unspoken.
this is lost the moment that a
piece is placed in a museum.

in designating a creation as “artwork”
the essence of goodness is implied to
eminate from the artwork-in-itself
and its ability to imitate reality, as opposed
to an application of enduring ideas that
extend beyond the limits of sensory actuality.
in other words, we are beginning with the
assumption that there is nothing more
than what can be perceived, and no meaning
that transcends the level of existence

to make art is to destroy meaning:
when we name a thing as “art” we
divorce it from its own significance.