irrelevance.
stupid simple nothings written and spoken; coming to a sort of conclusion that do not mean a thing; yet we think we can somehow understand...
lying within the vagueness that one is trying to put out there, a msytery for us to solve, it is doing nothing but trying to attract, to appeal, to a create a mystery, because it is human nature to want to explain the unexplainable, to solve the unsolved, to discover the unknown, to take in the distance to a closer level.
the paradox is; is that there is really no meaning lying beneath the words, there is no apparent symbolism within the image, there is no hidden secret, no purpose behind the aesthetic, it simply stays at nothing, and is only there for the sole purpose of being there.
a mix of jargon and jumbles that we can pick apart and analyze, but can never come to a substantial conclusion from, as there is no such thing as a conclusion.
conclusion is ongoing.
we want something of substance, something we are able to grab and hold onto and indulge within, yet everything seems to slip through as sand would beneath our fingers, and as we search for something of substance, we later take on the realization that there is no such thing as real. if you are to define real, real may just be as simple as is everything else, electrical signals taken in and interpreted by our brain.
if we are to study a piece of work, whether it be of a cubist or a realist, we would no doubt find a bit of cubism in the realist's work, and a bit of realism in the cubist's work, thereby making the two terms undefinable.
piece.
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