We approach art on our knees, hands outstretched to receive its asylum. We beg art to allow us to annex it into our lives in order to patch up our individual voids and our collective ones. People used to look to art to reveal something about reality; now we look to art to remove us from it. We put in art what we can’t seem to put in ourselves: hope. “I really need the new album by The National to be good,” we think.
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