Category: The milieu

The above is the end of the story – not much different than you would expect if anarchists and other emotives are in charge of a menagerie and scribed pages.  Misattention, misadventure, and maybe frivolity and scorn for the written; some of it possibly wise, maybe ancient: forced sudden efforts.  Just as a greater danger poked her nose into the blustery and brighter day.

Now on to the middle of the story.

Spring cleaning is much in order and some of the boxes of writs (once compelling but now needing reexamination in the light of day) were removed from the barn and spread upon the grass.  The dusting off, examining for value, repackaging and restorage incurred frivolous debunking by one of the enfant terribles who decided a paper airforce would be a fun way to distribute the ideas, during a brief calm.

Winds habitually haunt the prairie and sweep abruptly across the reviving grass, for this the  distracted spring-cleaners were ill-prepared.  What had not been proximate, became a dynamic presence.

Now…remember the bear?  This brings up the beginning of the story.

The bear is here because We are sympathetic to circuses with animals (not welcome in most places), and have made space available.  The so-called Decider-In-Chief has a childish infatuation with teddy bears and left the cage of the bear unlatched (the bear arrived in hibernation).  But a new season is also arriving here on the prairie and with it the friskiness of animals (two and four legged).  And so a she-bear, a hungry she-bear, roamed.

How are we frightened, and by what, affects decisions; panic being the most common.  After that “decision” the bear happily rummages our garbage (you will just have to imagine).

Now, a coda for the story…how does one put a she-bear  back in her cage, or respect our gifted scribbles?  With a trail of sweet words, candy and honey, flowers?

yes consider… paying the artists.

Commerce, even here at the reunion of anarchists and tent of the enfant terribles always keeps things going.  It seems that many want the pretty balloons (metaphorically speaking) but the artistics want some compensation; even the dead (We suppose): for what purpose is only an incense cloud of guesses.

Included in the disrupting events of the last few weeks here on the wind-swept prairie was one, the thought of becoming commercial, i.e. imitating the outside world. It is a critical discussion.

Donations, “begging” for help, has alienated some of the purists.  Instead of offering a handful of balloons they would have a wagon-load of halos to demonstrate the quality of the artists, a monkish expectation of earthly provender while guiding morals and spirituality with various scribbles.

Well, maybe.

History, art and otherwise, offers pirate affluence as validating most actions, even proving a state of grace, but it  possesses a pejorative connotation among anarchists and enfant terribles:  unless ( of course) they receive a benefit from some pirate, where upon blessings are extended.

Some lament that art has been turned into a commodity.  “Commodity market” – an ethereal pantheon – for some hallowed artists : (usually during explosive three-year careers).  Producing commodifiable art, acquiring patronage, showing in evening vespers galleries, or pontificating where affluence pours into collection baskets; is for the few.

Outside on the prairie, corn, now that’s a commodity – certain product uniformity – offered with an understanding that someone will buy.  Buy (maybe not at the best producer price) but buy they will.

Art is a little different.

Hundreds of millions of paintings are offered on the internet, not counting the sculptures, drawings and cat photos, they do not possess “certain product uniformity”.  Alas, few will be bought.

The artists here at the tent who didn’t come into this world with a gilded guardian angel, have found a bit of the necessities of low fixed costs and dry storage space; to hold their art till some pirate wants to buy a blessing.

This romantic absurdity does have a cost so we have put out our sign, against the pure anarchists desire,  and hope you will donate to the PayPal account.