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

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.

The museum spreads its surfaces everywhere, and becomes an untitled collection of generalizations that mobilize the eye.

The museums and parks are graveyards above the ground- congealed memories of the past that act as a pretext for reality.

A work of art when placed in a gallery loses its charge, and becomes a portable object or surface disengaged from the outside world.

Language thus becomes monumental because of the mutations of advertising