There is no progress in art, any more than there is progress in making love. There are simply different ways of doing it.
{ Man Ray }

I took a walk in the city of Los Angeles early this afternoon, busy metropolitan yet still ever so laid-back. Walking around, I got around to thinking about how much of art is just attention. How the sidewalk that is not art — but a framed photograph of the cracks in the cement, hung on the wall — can make people look.

And once they look, they see the patterns, the chaos, the beauty, the meaning. And that’s art. So the question is: is the meaning there in the sidewalk anyway, or only once someone has paid attention to it?

And that so much of the beauty is in emptiness. Recently, I saw a special program on Chaco Canyon and the ruins there.

The people in Chaco Canyon built all the buildings and the towns to align with a celestial pattern. And the towns are oriented to each other so that, overall, all the works of their civilization formed a huge pattern — one that couldn’t be seen, one that echoed the pattern of the world in their mind.

And part of this was a road that went north. To nothing. It only went north so that there could be that part of the pattern expressed. It was a road to another dimension — to the sky and the spirit world.

And I thought that the only reason that road was beautiful, was because it went nowhere.

This made me think of the way people always say form is more important than content. And it made me see, in a way, what I think they mean.

Which is what lead me to a realization of one of the reasons I always defend the importance of content.

I can do content. If content makes something be art, then I have made art.

But I don’t honestly think that I am good enough at anything that if you look only at the form, it’s art. If form is what matters, then I have never produced anything with enough beauty in its form to be art.

This made me a bit sad.

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About Klassy

How Klassy got her groove back.

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