Art is deception. The artist never provides a sense of achievement, it’s the illusion that there lies meaning when all he does is carry a line and a body to infer faint hope. People are so delayed for meaning that they grab on to these abstractions as a radiance. They see meaning there that does not exist, putting everything of their own in something that just is meant to rest ones eyes upon. Art is a stool and we are the creators weighting upon it. I may do the same, but I know my callings. To go beyond these aggravating excretions and knowing that meaning is an artwork itself. They can say this is picasso’s art, but this is no meaning. This is no thinking. This is just a place for rest. The reactions we display are our emotions, a notion that is not bounced by aspects of understandings. It’s what isn’t that controls the mind, and what is not you in a moment of being. People sitting glued to these stools in hope of the presence of god, while the mind makes the maker.