In Art There Is No Progress, Only

In The Somme Valley, The Back Of Language Broke. It Could No Longer Carry Its Former Meanings. World War I Changed The Life Of Words And Images In Art, Radically And Forever. It Brought Our Culture Into The Age Of Mass-produced, Industrialized Death. This, At First, Was Indescribable.

What We Need More Of Is Slow Art: Art That Holds Time As A Vase Holds Water: Art That Grows Out Of Modes Of Perception And Making Whose Skill And Doggedness Make You Think And Feel; Art That Isn’t Merely Sensational, That Doesn’t Get Its Message Across In Ten Seconds, That Isn’t Falsely Iconic, That Hooks Onto Something Deep-running In Our Natures. In A Word, Art That Is The Very Opposite Of Mass Media.

Transportation Made Sublimation Literal. It Conveyed Evil To Another World.

If You Like Your Soccer Cerebral, And The Triumph Ultimately To Be Wrung Out Of Staying Power, Milan Was The Place To Be. If You Love The Uncertainty Of Teams That Cannot Defend Yet Have The Courage To Attack, Attack, Attack, Then Seville Was Heaven... The Common Denominator Between The Victories Of Arsenal And Fenerbache? The Strength Of Mind, The Courage To Dare In Another Team's Domain, The Inner Belief That Is As Much A Part Of Sporting Success As The Skill A Fellow May Be Born With.

Popular In Our Time, Unpopular In His. So Runs The Stereotype Of Rejected Genius.