Let's face it, there's a feast of art out there that wants to be consumed. Painting au gratin and a steamy side of poached poetry. A million tables over, stacked to the ceiling, towers of well-done dish's contents are crusting over the plates and bowls that were served. Everyone eats at this table. Everyone serves at this table. It's the democratization of both publishing and publicity. It's socia
l networking. It's all of that art quite actively, quite shamelessly, asking you to consume it. It's quite vehemently demanding your attention,
or positioning itself at your feet and just laying there. Leaving smudges of its hair, its skin, its heart, on your shoes. And you just walk away. And you keep walking. Until at some point, something strikes you. Some name or image or story or song. How do you decide;
What to listen to? What to watch? What to read? What to look at? How do you decide what to devour, and what to feed to the dogs? Is it a certain aesthetic quality? A certain subject matter? Maybe it was the time,
or maybe it was the place,
that you were introduced? Whatever it was it happened. And it will continue to happen. You will continue to stumble down certain streets,
taking detours now and again,
in your pursuit of artistic viability. You will pass through a dense city,
topographically heavy,
swarming with merchants and street performers. This city will grow around you
and there will never be enough
hours in your day to consume it all.
