A non-writer asked me "but where do you get your ideas" and i genuinely did not know how to explain that it's not a place. it's not a website. it's not a folder. it's that i was on the bus and a woman was holding a paper bag very carefully and something about the way she held it made me need to know what was inside and then i needed to know why she was sad about it and then there was a whole person and then there was a whole story and the bus had already stopped and i missed my stop. that's where.
i swear you can almost tell if someone's never read a book in their life by the overly quantitative understanding of art and this weird fixation on Ideas and the ownership thereof.
people are taught to view art the way they're taught to view basically anything else, which is as a product that neatly fits on graphs and in categories and whatnot. which is a means of making a living and maybe even asserting ownership of something significant. now i don't have the time or energy to elaborate but that's a sad thing
