(“It plumbs such depths. It subsumes so much. The question of the place and future of Art combined with a concise statement of typical male sexual response. And what of the insemination in that wince and wither? Productive? No air apparent. Wait for it. No air apparent. W(h)ence and W(h)ither. The H does not get to breath (aspirate) in this instance. No air to breed an heir. Ho Ho He He Ha Ha Much aspiration now. But what Ho He Ha do I aspire to? It’s very deep, you see. Major work of Art.”)
I’ve been assigned some occupational therapy by select concerned Mandarins of the Lichtenbergian Society. It’s also something of a test, I think, to see if I can play along and get along. And be funny. It has to be funny. Even witty.
Something on Art, with the capital A. My first impulse is to send you to an earlier post in which I think I come clean on the issue of Art (introducing “The Ape”). But I can go further. Note the shape of the capital letter A. Those of you familiar with Alpine architecture will see the form of a classic high-roofed lodge. Those anthropologists among you will note the Native American “tee-pee.” The capital A is clearly an icon for Shelter. Shelter is a “roof over your head” in this (upper) case. So Art is shelter; and while I seek something “over my head” to protect me from the storm, I know full well that in choosing Art for my protection: I’m in way “over my head.”
In true Lichtenburgian fashion I will let this initial burst of whimsy suffice for the moment and follow it up later with the necessary elaboration (don’t hold your breath). Better yet, let me be true to my belief in collaborative creative processes and open this up to a participatory fantasia. Does this particular conflicted form of Art fetish, this miserable creeping under the eaves of A, resonate for anyone else? Since your response need not be conscientious or earnest or anything in particular (we strive for Art, not accountability), do not waste time complaining you don’t have enough to go on. Consider yourself provoked.