REGINALD MARSH AND LINES
There an ever-ending moment somewhere
that never ends - I think that's how we
define time. It runs on and just keeps
going as we jump on and off. (You can
go to college, I think, for this stuff;
just take a physics course).
Art itself tries something different; to
bridge that same conceptual gap, it walks
its way silently through the obstacle before
it, calls it whatever it wants, and goes on.
That the glimpse of recognition we get
when we see something profound.
Some people paint propaganda; some color
their own social fabric. Some do it just for
the cocktail parties, banter and sex. Others
use color instead - leaving the fine-line
stuff off, they throw and heave and seethe.
Others use the grotesque or the erotic. There
are, most certainly, all different forms of art.
(You can do your Norman Rockwell.
You can do your Reginald Marsh.
All the rest is up to you, so whatever
you do, do it well, not harsh).