Sydelle at the hive the first time: now you pick a name. I pick my name. Instantly, a sort of birthing — a plumage and hunger. Was I infant or was I a stillborn?
Sydelle at the hive the first time: now you pick a name. I pick my name. Instantly, a sort of birthing — a plumage and hunger. Was I infant or was I a stillborn?
“
What strikes me is the fact that in our society, art has become something which is related only to objects and not to individuals, or to life. That art is something which is specialized or which is done by experts who are artists. But couldn’t everyone’s life become a work of art? Why could the lamp or the house be an art object, but not our life?
“
Michel Foucault