I am for an art that chooses the weird crayons in the box – the old ones that the paper wrapper has either fallen off or is illegible.

I am for an art that obsesses about a memory, and the memory develops a life of its own, which may or may not still resemble the original experience. Art doesn’t care. Art does what it wants.

I am for an art that dares you to pull its finger. You hesitate. Art waits, finger extended.

I am for an art that loves you enough to sleep with you and your dogs, all arms and legs interlocking, forming a king bed-sized game of Tetris or a living jigsaw puzzle. No one can move. But art is happy.

I am for an art that watches YouTube late into the night. It gets to the weird part of YouTube. It needs to go to bed, but it must watch just one more video, one more. Just one more. This one’s short. Then it can’t sleep because it’s up at 3 am.

(YouTube can still be a problem…)