Maybe I’m Not Arting?

Art is some sort of specification of oneself? - but is not understood? – not even by one’s own self?

Art just “comes out” of oneself – to oneself, and then all by oneself, one publicly, unmaskedly lays what one is calling calling Art on a table or hangs it on a wall or invites other selves to read or witness.

I can see clearly that the generosity of the people actually willing to subscribe to joecsmolen.com makes me somewhat bold:

There’s a joke about two guys up in their hot air balloon on a lark. They fly quite a distance across Maine. Eventually, they realize they’re lost. Far below, they spot a farmer working in a field, so they vent some hot air. They descend. They hail down to her,

“Where are we?”

The annoyed farmer just glances up at them. Right before she goes indifferently back to work, she yells, “Up in a balloon, ya fool!”

I know exactly where I am.

I just caught the Noon Balloon to Rangoon and I’m in the back of the wicker gondola where the red-turbaned Pilot doesn’t see what I’m doing. I’m dropping propaganda leaflets. In places at joecsmolen.com, my “bent” gets mentioned. There’s definitely a sort of propaganda to it.