About people who think more about style than the content they're trying to portray, there is only one thing to say. That is that they tend to lose sight of the content in favor of the style. When responding, Wow that's really cool, the content has already slipped one notch. It may resurface, but at that moment, it has dipped in its importance scale. Thus, there is a moment that the stylist have aspired to. That moment is when importance shifts, when repsonsibilities are seen from another light, when allegiances may falter. It is anarchy. Brief yet not unimportant. Its importance stems from its self-valuating conception. Its own conception of itself. And that, in and of itself, is a sign, like any other sign, but also like no other sign. It is individual and that is art. What becomes of art, then, is another question.
Traditional views hold art as undefinable, and to certain viewpoints it is. But at these times it is also nothing more than that. Objet de art. It is once removed from art itself. In one bold move, art has detached itself from the physical representation that defines its act of creation. Those representations, then, halt the act of art and are thus remnants as asteroids are of comets, as comets are of meteors, and as we all are from creation. we are an aftermath. And it is this astermath that will serve to determine its creator. Who's acts, whose will, whose behavior will be displayed as a physical remnant of the act? That is the question of the giver of life. That is what, to us, gives him/her/its meaning. All the while our lives are hung in the balance.
Is it ideas that separate us from the world of actuality, of being? Can the monkey be truly happy without the idea of social progress, monetary power and influential might? As far as we know it, yes thay can. We cannot. History bears this out more than any individual testimony. And it is repeated again and again and again. So far without end. Fate may be called upon to try to explain. Religion as well. But certainly any explanation must begin with perhaps the only undisbutable fact: something happened.
It is not my intention to draw parallels with any work by Joseph Heller—although the war motif may not be entirely lost here. Multiple powers, each straining against the other to try to define itself as dominant. A war which one side will win—given our current notions of time: everything with a beginning, a middle and an end. Everything. Without question. An omega. An omega for all, for each and every one. A trinity, a holy trinity.
You see I cover ground already well trodden. But it is neither theism nor atheism that I'm after. My authorial attention is draw attention to my own ideas, to display my own art. But it is with such admiration for all works of art, especially those I mention or allude to, that justifies my own conscience as to why I must create. Your determination of my ideas will, in essence, create me. I need you, as an author, to read my work. Without such an act my effort can never be recognized let alone considered.
From this comes an interesting point. AS author, I supply materials. With readers, I am still unable to paint a masterpiece as only the reader has the imagination to make sense of it. The real act of creation is perpetuated again and again as each person considers its physical representation. And this is the immortality of art.