The best art I’ve ever seen had a reverential quality: it punched me in the head, and after saying it was sorry it healed my head wound. I felt blessed to have been punched and healed so.
The best art I’ve ever seen was like a nun during my time in Catholic school.
I’ve seen lots of good art.
And, sometimes, maybe even often, I’ve been a bad friend to the good art I’ve seen: I’ve not been ruthlessly honest to it, about it. I ‘ve let uncomfortable, unnatural things about it slide.
I’ve not helped its story any.
The story of art is hung on a web of transactions about beliefs and commerce and their accounts. Art can’t be seen without it, though sometimes I wish I could still write about art without it. Both accounts and their transactions fail me now.
I’ve tried to do good by art. Maybe I should have done right by it.