Now, personally, I subscribe to the art theory posed by the 20th century German philosopher, Martin Heidegger, which essentially says: Art is valuable, in and of itself, and never as a means to an end. To this extent, art is useless because it has no utility outside of aesthetic appreciation; art cannot make your car run, it cannot save impoverished countries, it cannot cure a sickness, it cannot stop a war. Art, in this sense, is useless.

Now, before all the brie- and shiraz-consuming art fags angrily tangle themselves with their color wheel scarves, let me say that just because something is useless, in the most literal sense, does not by any means make it worthless; art has infinite worth because an endless number of people attach value to it. Heidegger is on to something, but his point can only be seen once one is aware of where he is going with this initial statement. If art cannot get us anything, if, in this literal sense it has no use, and we nevertheless persist in attaching the most poignant and profound value to it, then what we value is the core substance of art, which is the integral ability of art to reflect and illuminate to us the truths of our existences- the meaningfulness at which humanity can nod its head in universal accordance and think, “Yes, that’s so true… that does happen…I know exactly what is being conveyed, I have encountered this very thing.” And when the spectator reaches this point, when she meaningfully connects with the artwork, the aesthetic experience is had.

But can the artist take full responsibility for this? Certainly not.

¶ 9:31 AM