Art is a subsitute for real lived-in moments/experiences/feelings/thoughs/ideologies. It potrays an attempt to capture and store such elements and re-evoke or pass on to another their existence upon sequential periods of time. It allows the heightening of oneself, in order to avoid a beat-around the bush situtation of extreme ease and comfort within enclosed private spaces. In other cases, it actually encourages such individual isolation, yet it attempts to test communicational and lingual limits. In the end, art is a passport. A load of bullshit.