Artists are expected to fit into fraudulent categories.

Objects in a park suggest static repose rather than any ongoing dialectic. Parks are finished landscapes for finished art .

One's mind and the earth are in a constant state of erosion, mental rivers wear away abstract banks, brain waves undermine cliffs of thought, ideas decompose into stones of unknowing, and conceptual crystallizations break apart into deposits of gritty reason.

Instead of causing us to remember the past like the old monuments, the new monuments seem to cause us to forget the future

History is a facsimile of events held together by finally biographical information.

From the top of the quarry cliffs, one could see the New Jersey suburbs bordered by the New York City skyline.

Questions about form seem as hopelessly inadequate as questions about content.