H. Miller – Tropic of Cancer

I believe that today more than ever a book should be sought after even if it has only one great page in it: we must search for fragments, splinters, toenails, anything that has ore in it, anything that is capable of resuscitating the body and soul.

 

 

 

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We got art. Now, what do we do?

It’s been same years since art began. Thousands even. Time flies by so fast. One day you have those awsome cave-wall paintings, next day someone writes about Ulysses who’s lost in Dublin. Also, every now and then there is someone talking about the end of art, claiming that nothing new is possible and that all our creative possibilties are exhausted.  Supposedly all is said and done we can go home. Right? Only, there are a few artists lingering on, lonely and jobless. Sitting hopelessly for our viewing instead of their art.

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#Marina Abramovic: The Artist Is Present

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