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Art for a New Century

This is an excerpt from the new novel I'm working on, Blood of the Sun...


Still, the artists must lead the way!”

    “To what?”

    “What. Where. Who.” Freud shakes his head. “What if we've reached the point where even the most profound truths are lost on the assembly line? So it’s back to the artists! Imagine them all refusing to be part of the Bad Infinity. To use your friend's phrase.”

    “So what, they just stop?

  “Like burning a field to make way for new growth. And this will be their art,” Freud says. “The art of a new Millennium. Perhaps this is all that's left to say.”

    “What, nothing?

  “An art of abstinence and denial. A refusal to participate in the problem, just for the sake of transient gain. And there will be a period where nothing is created. And the void left by the artists will be filled by those who shovel dirt into holes, and this will be praised.”

    “So artists dig holes?”

  “The real ones! Holes that ache to be filled. Holes that let our humanity rise. Holes that allow our souls to be born. And there'll be a time of all-embracing silence amidst the deafening clamor. When art will be a prayer and a space created to allow the sacred. And this might last for generations. For a century even before something new can be said.”

    “Let us hush this cry of progress for ten thousand years.”

    “Now you're getting it.”

    “So…”

  “Like a blade of grass pushing its way through concrete,” Freud says, punctuated with a last cloud of smoke from his cigar. “Life, Jack… It finds a way.” He checks his watch. “Oops! Looks like our time is up.”



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—copyright 2019, 2020 by Kevin Postupack, Kevin Kunundrum