Art often arises only until just a fortiori when the artist by creating his work, do not think about the rest of the world, but (almost) only to itself.
He is a doctor himself by creating. The only doctor who can resist him the word poison the usurer and the connected thereto shouting to help their writers and the masses.
Meanwhile angesichtig he is often helplessly, unless he helps himself.
He may namely, that's him refreshment and physic, that perceive first, often the only one and see what is not the residual Spirit. That which the merchant scornful laughs so long if he take a closer ever, listens while it's still "worth nothing", ie not profitable abzuhökern and is for sale.
Exactly one who will praise it to the skies as soon as he can make his cut so that when the mass was brought by his scribes to celebrate.
It is sometimes soaked by some evil laugh that sounds in the bosom of the artist there. A shot-by contempt. Nevertheless, it is one that is based in love.
Arises from hate, at least know each Rune Lore, never true art. Only after art. Today, however, which it is now truly no shortage. Carrot in the asshole in the Vienna U-Bahn or fat corner in the Staatsgalerie Stuttgart. Cheers meal.
So we help ourselves, where there is no longer a contradiction is admissible, as to whether the expanded concept of art that carrot belongs to scrap in the anus and margarine into early puberty, by yourself by not follow These kinds Abranz, our creation in doubt even just alone look for us, because to follow that what the market wanted decadence of the strategist mixed up screaming.
We have an easy life, are not suitable for hedonism.
But we can one that's more: we give our freedom, our joy itself, we know that no blow, no brush strokes, no sound, no letter is in vain.. To understand even "more of economy" than those who made it their trademark.
Of course, we enjoy even the initially few who recognize our work. After all, we are happy to pass. Even "free".
Ultimately, we are of immortality, the postulate so many religious Aster and Wissenschftsglaubsforschhuber or want to cooperate invent, internally, spiritually, so much closer that it's for those not even worth while about it, they would ever get the idea, even a tract of toes pages long to write.
The rabble it worth while not even know about the relationship to dispute the mutual dependence of form and content. Every reasonable rate due to shaking already in its foundations, so that they are "intolerant" or "altgestrig!" Scream, or otherwise herausplärren any of its ciphers baseless randomness to keep their mental garbage heap sacred.
"L'art por l'artiste": I have chosen this title, write, although I sometimes still feel like twenty, but in reality not so'm young, but 48 to our young artists (well, even perhaps because other interested readers) to give courage undaunted, and encouraging self-confidence and self-preservation.
Normally I would now inserted a passage to the effect that I know very well how widely ridiculous I made using such an undertaking: but now I can save that, quite Swabian, but once; quite luxurious.
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Tags: art , radical spirit
