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.
“April snow. / God is waiting in the garden. / Slow as a blush,
snow shifts and settles on God. / On God’s bouquet. / The trees are white nerve nets.”
Anne Carson | “God’s Bouquet Of Undying Love”
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