As an expression of our inability to live up to the standards of experience, which aren’t even that high, art is transcendent, beating reality at its own game, making reality real, the imagination wearing mortal flesh, slumming, readying itself to go back to God after sprinkling its messages like apple seeds across a nation, which will grow into fruit-bearing trees.
Because of this, artists have more, or less, sex, or the same amount. Think of Picasso and Kafka.
Art is made instead: if life were enough, we wouldn’t. But we need art’s off ramp to a parallel road, less congested, more beautiful, where it means something just to pass by.
Craig Morgan Teicher is the author, most recently, of To Keep Love Blurry (BOA, 2012) and the chapbook Ambivalence and Other Conundrums (Omnidawn, Fall 2013).