I dreamed last night that a Catholic priest interviewed me to evaluate how good a person I am. His decision: 3.2 on a scale of 5. I defended myself, pointing out that I am thoughtful, compassionate, honest, generous… “Yes, but you’re not Catholic. You’re not even religious.”
He also read some of my writing, declaring that it has potential except that it doesn’t make any sense.
Art should not make sense. Only in retrospect can it make sense. Propaganda(for oneself or for another) must make sense. One has to come to terms with what one is to be, a propagandist or an artist. To be an artist is to be truly useless. The better the art, the more useless it is. The editors will make it mean something later on. Maybe. God has no editor.
Oh, good! Now I feel better. Art and dreams are all in the interpretation. Well, partly in the interpretation.