There is a force inscribing and painting and sculpting on the canvas which is the universe. There is art everywhere. [fascism arrived in the form of editing and deleted a sentence] New neural connections are made, wonderment and contemplation enter and a smooth plateau is landed on even if the feelings evoked and provoked or AGITATED are uncomfortable.

This plateau lies between the neural networks of declarative and exploratory. Lutoslawski provides a fine example in Sleep Spaces, a piece written for a baritone and orchestra based on a poem by Desnos. Even with limited knowledge of French, the original poem sparks imagination, is very imagistic, the reader careening through the flow. Lutoslawski hits the climax at “millions et millions d’êtres… !!!!” The baritone belts out the final glissando into huge crashing orchestral chords as goose bumps run down your spine and the plateau is arrived at. ART? Catharsis? Art is Catharsis? Sublimation? That which is between?

• GOD is ART
• YOU are GOD
• THE WORK is YOU
• Therefore THE WORK is ART

And the ART is Work. Self referencing strips. Are the above statements ART? Are critiques ART? I’ve seen expressions proclaimed as ART that represent the basest of urges and do not provide the transport to plateau. That place between animal and eternity. The animal declares “This is mine!” or “I eat I live!” The eternal is explored in endless spiritual and mental and emotional questions, the eternity of seeking higher and higher. Does your ART do this? Or is your ART the writhing in mud with other vapid gestures, sterile and landed on the sarcophagi?

Oh feeble ones striving on this canvas shouting HEAR ME!!! HEAR ME!!! Is it you we are supposed to address? Your shouting, it echos into the void. Farewell Savannah.