My truck looks huge next to the other cars on the street. Palm trees stand guard all the way to the beach, making a Hollywood gauntlet. The Sun rises and sets funny here, as if the world's axis shifted this fall, or as if the Sun selected a new route through the sky. But tonight as I check my truck and pull the last needed items from the cab and the windows have already started to fog in that way that means it cooled down to fast tonight, I think how glad I am that it is my truck. The condensation heightens the sense of a lonely street. All is quiet in this beach town and I keep thinking about distraction. I spent the first half of the night re-reading my students written thoughts on Sherrie Levine. And the better half of the night watching Pulp Fiction.

I often question my faith, in my past I remember adamantly believing in many ideas and assumptions. It seems the more educated I get the less there is to believe in. I'm not sure I have believed in the "Masterpiece" in a very long time. But shouldn't I believe in a perfect piece of art or rather shouldn't I believe I have "one" waiting. I use to spend a lot of time trying to feel full. Food or fun or confidence or righteousness, but mostly just an overwhelming since of full. I think I forget to feel full even when I am these days. Even when the street is empty and I am headed to a warm bed and I know my world continues a steady course. I am full.

I believe in the Masterpiece. I believe one person can be responsible for a Masterpiece. A gesture or work or project so well conceived and so perfectly executed it leaves the audience in as much awe as the maker. We spend a lot of time in the art world arguing for the original or the authentic, but in that effort I see a missed shot, as if the marksman aimed slightly to the left and missed the balloon dangling from the lips of the perfectly dressed assistant, and the crowd is just confused.

Life needs Masterpieces, works so perfect they redefine expectation. This world of mechanism and remix causes a horrible sensation of de-ja-vu. Every action a reference either caddy or campy to some previous gesture made by some long dead master or musician. Why do we make so many covers to great moments in our memories. I feel it is too easy to be ironic and cynical, very clever boy, but stop being so emo and just say something in which you might actually risk a new thought. Don't pretend to dismiss your desire for the audiences approval. Any artist who rejects the audience is just playing "hard to get" which reveals itself more as an act than a meaningful gesture. We look back to our icons, our dead gods, in search of their mojo, how did he walk or talk or look just before he died? Being dead and brilliant has nothing to do with greatness. The only advantage is the dead never show up to hold the imitators accountable. But back to my empty street and my full belly. I am just getting comfortable here, I am just shaking off the last of my jet lag from the move, and that means a whole lot of good days to come. I am almost back to full speed.

My hand is becoming more steady, my thoughts quicker and cleaner, my ideas are returning to me bigger than before. My belief system is rebuilding. I watched a nine year old do a card trick the other night. He was great, took him three times to get it right, but he never gave up. Lately I argue, its not about whether something is or isn't art, it's that we have the debate, the discussion, the dialogue, that is important. When watching this young fella handle the cards, I remembered for the first time in several years, it's not about the trick working it's about the moment between two people when the trick is possible. When the world and its laws don't apply, when a nine year old can create and inspire.

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