Today we no longer know what to call art, what its function is and even less what function it will have in the future. We know only that it is something dynamic — unlike many ideas that have governed us.
“Being no longer human why should I
Pretend humanity or don the frail attire?
Men have I known, and men, but never one
Was grown so free an essence, or become
So simply element as what I am.
The mist goes from the mirror and I see!
Behold! the world of forms is swept beneath—
Turmoil grown visible beneath our peace,
And we, that are grown formless, rise above—
Fluids intangible that have been men,
We seem as statues round whose high-risen base
Some overflowing river is run mad,
In us alone the element of calm!”
Ezra Pound | “Paracelsus in Excelsis”