Hands that smell of gravlax,
Orchids that are dying,
Water boils on the stove,
The cat is sleeping on my satchel,
Come home, dinner is ready.
I will drown in this wine,
Like i have drowned into you,
I have become part, a piece, a nothing of you,
This wine however, is all of me.
The artist as we know him, is dead, he has passed.
We as a generation will see no Picasso, Rembrandt, Leonardo nor Dali emerge from our access and ability to share our hipsterism.
Art, however, has taken on the greatest socialist approach, therefore art, not as we have known it will survive under a new guise.
The artist however as a person, as an entity, a star will never re-emerge.
Thank you, Instagram, Facebook and Flick-R.
zebrasindenver 