Berenice Abbott, Multiple Exposure of a Swinging Ball, ca. 1958
When the artifactual becomes as boring as the natural the dawn of good taste rears here Kantian head, but lo,.. pearl necklaces and how I learned to love them…to be sure it’s simpler to talk shit then to transcend the dialectical movement from natural to artificial to fantasy as the domination of the natural and lever of the mind over the world to this repeat of the natural as the new (unworthy of the name).
or The Milky Way, its host, gathers as the momentously slick darkness congeals. Das man shudders… and so on, one could mix poetry with contentiously rife pretense favorably exemplifying the critic’s war with the perpetrationaly poised petty curator of the blog (speaking generally).