Friday, April 3, 2009
Art sometimes, often times, has a way of failing us. It is a feeling of sickness that cannot be forced out of us. When we try to vomit, we haven't eaten enough, digested enough for the purging to happen. There is no expression, no substance in what is revealed. It is just water. Sometimes art is ephemeral, meaningless, and disposable. The meaning is nothing. The image is not powerful enough, and even embarrassing. The result is a necessary failure. It is something that tells us that it is not meant to be born yet, if at all.