I enjoy cooking, seriously — not merely because I have full control in the kitchen, because it involves a lot of experimenting and precision, because it is therapeutic, because anyone can pick up a tool and do it as easy as abc123 — but mostly because I see it as a serious art.

And it is quite different, the task of the cook. Because unlike the other arts, you share your creation by having people consume them.

And after the ecstasy (or agony, lol) of consumption by others, after they acknowledge and appreciate your work of art by masticating, chewing, swallowing, ingesting and digesting, thereby becoming one with their bodies, after all that —

Your art turns into shit.

Your art is disposable,
expelled from your audience’s orifice,
naturally, as Nature intended.

No matter how much they enjoy your art, it must be excreted;
it cannot be kept inside for long, or else your audience will die.

It is necessary for your work of art post-consumption to turn into shit.
The masterpiece is disposable fecal matter, and the artist accepts that.


And this is what utterly fascinates me so.

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About Klassy

How Klassy got her groove back.

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