I actually didn’t know there was another, although it makes sense that there is a distinction.

Sometimes the greatest masterpieces don’t make the largest of the impressions on me.

Creepily, I remember “Portrait of Dorian Gray”, and a sculpture by Yoko Ono claiming one is an idiot not to think a small cannonball is the size of a period in one’s mind. I also remember Georgia O’Keefe’s flowers, although at the time I wasn’t highly moved.

At the MoMA in Monterey there were canvases using a sort of architectural drafting technique creating a horizontal limnus spreading like the infrastructure of a city abstracted in cross-section. This was highly interesting to me, but now I forget the artist’s name.

I’m beginning to wonder whether it is possible to have a genuine view on the artworld, when it has not always been my life, and I cannot possess it.

Maybe when I create art I am attempting to make up for this.

I have a gallery at Machina Aesthetika.