The Point...

Last day in Paris. We're walking along the Roman Viaduct that was re-built such that there are shops inside the arches. Trust me.

Anyway, towards the end of the viaduct, this building appeared. Like looking at the bow of some futuristic financial ice-breaker, it jutted out at us, impressed with its' own immoviability. Dana turned to me and said "So, what's the point of a building like that?"

Uh..um..err..well..the neo-gothic resurgence during the Arceolithic revival of post-Judean architecture demanded a pre-modernistic return to post-modern views on exterior expression of internalized visions of non-judgemental structural expressionisms. Editors Note. The preceding sentence is principally bullshit, generated by the author during cranial down-time, whilst attempting to process a sufficient reply to his spouse.

In the end, I had to admit that it did seem somewhat pointless. I mean a box is so much easier to fill efficiently, and easier to plan around, and easier to maintain, and so forth. And then the answer slapped me in the face! "Dear..it is because we can, because we can create a thing of wonder and beauty, and be adequately satisfied that it really doesn't have to have a point. It is simply good because it could be built that way, not because we needed another box".

Their is some universal truth and grace to the "blank stare". When directed at you, it can convey utter joy, rapture, and love because you've said or done something that has profoundly affected the other person that there is simply no emotion available to adequatly respond with other than shear, razor-sharp, and totally complete blancus starus. On the other hand, it is possible that you have somehow stumbled upon one of the eleven incantations of stupity, and uttering one of them aloud, have so offeneded your audience that they are simply struck dumb with disbelief. I apparently had in fact, whilst attempting the first, managed to achieve the second.

I spent a good deal of the remaining walk attempting to explain myself, or more accurately my most recent statement, as explaining myself would require a walk from Paris to Hong Kong. I had little success.

The plane flight home afforded 15 hours of luxurious claustraphobia with which to contemplate. The best that I could do is as follows: In some instances, there is not a requirement for something to have a point. Simply being able to do something may just be justificiation enough. The art crowd has afflicted me with this line of reasoning, to wit, art is simply the manifestation of the human spirit, translated into something tangible. That there is no meaning to it, is irrelevant.

My father once said that gentleman is someone who knows how to play an accordian...and doesn't. As such, I could go on but won't. I will leave it to the jury to bring forth both arguments for and against this theory.

M