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our desire for a materiality comes at the hands of world we increasingly do not touch. And so art must become a hyperstimulus; art must make us, perverts of novelty, feel something through glass, by sight, because our hands have been removed to a world we touch only through electrified track pads, through eyes, through a world like advertisement. And art, for all its self-segregation, increasingly must compete with entirety of visual diaspora, entering into mass cultural networks, instagram and webpages becoming its channels, same as all the other. The gloss of Artforum is now a forlorn beacon in comparison. How does art compel belief in its higher order. We now compete with actual images of dead oiled fish. Art excesses itself, crusts, proofs its real.
