Art (n.) does not exist except for and by others.
Art (n.) as paintings and statues cannot be used: they are lovely, facing me.
Art (n.) in its absolute form demands a suicide swiftly followed by genocide, both imaginary, and its supreme dignity is a vampirization of being.
Art (n.) has a last aim: to take this world back by displaying it as it is, yet as if it sprang from human freedom.
Art (n.) holds a wonderful power: from a shrill, five-foot little man, posterity gets only a menacing face, a magnificent gesture, and a bull's bloodshot eyes.
Art (n.) is a flight for one person, a means of conquest for another — yet one can flee into a hermitage, madness or death, and conquer by force; so why writing?
Art (n.) is a ceremony of the gift: I capture nature's illusion of purpose in flight and transmit it to others, and it becomes human — intentional — by the transmission.