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There is nothing else I could imagine as more inspiring a landscape then the one I spotted just before sunset in a parking lot. I stood for a moment in complete disregard of the wind blowing automobiles from spot to spot around me, because what I was imagining was a more striking point of view, albeit an animated one. All thoughts of what brought me here have been temporarily forgotten, and then I am urged forward with a new impetus, and my expedition inside of the building in front of me was received by a cheery door monitor, who expressed a very forward welcome to me.

There was brevity in our conversation although this was far from foul, in which we shared an estimated exchange of perhaps three to five seconds, following by my entering and her closing of the door. Inside I found two hundred and sixty others already milling in lines to hand off coats, order drinks, and then take their new bearing toward the only stage. As a section of the building this one was especially crowded and we were all exposed to those exhibiting vertical positions holding instruments and inclining to entertain us.

Although the details thus far are scanty, so far as observed, the impact was remarkable and prepared our minds for the still growing notes that would spread out among us like a sea over our specific latitude. Collectively we are edged, reversed and then cropped as fragments of our previous selves, now imbedding with the band who played on as proof of the course we had all chosen.

Nothing can exceed the beauty of what we heard and what we see in this mass of dancers and listeners. As sudden were we two hundred and sixty people on the dance floor, some of us shooting straight up perpendicularly, while others adapted portions of their routines at, above, or below eye level, adapting to and landing on each successive note in what an observer could only ascertain as a quite primitive style. Frown at us if you will, but this was dancing.

There are all kinds of aspirations and hopes at events like these and we all choose our own path among the throng of bodies syncopating and the precipices of body language and facial expressions. None of which I thought should be overlooked: they are magnificent, sublime expressions of prospects: poetic muses which are inevitably fixed on being here and the healthy atmosphere this place promotes. I remained at the outer edges of the moving, swinging crowd; encamped for the journey; and avoiding such difficulties of portages from the center and back again to the edge.

So much is said of the difficulties about things that we really do not know, but for now we have found escape from examining it. This is no precipitous cliff we shall go marching over, but rather this is an elevated plain. Collectively we exhibit the actions of earlier moments in our childhoods when we could dance with abandon. The most striking difference is that we are forming now with spirits in overflowing glass, commanding a fine view of those entertaining us on the elevated stage, by which we are enabled to gyrate as a consequence of just letting go.

This is of greater interest, that one can imagine that letting go at times can be a prominent proportion of adulthood, as this is a strategy, or better yet a condition where one comes to sustain oneself and the consequence of group thinking. Movement on a dance floor inside of a contemporary art museum is the exhibit. It is created and carried forward by everyone inside, as well as those yet to appear in the outlines of these pictures.

Not one of us is so isolated here; this self sustaining mass of coincidences thus far; an apex of post modern thinking on many levels offering striking proof that our art is not some regurgitation. This has a whole point, resisting what was previously sustained, and is told by the visitors who once only attended these places to gaze.

Remain as composed in the New Year, one could suppose.

At as many different plains.

Horizontally or vertically inclined.

This one always wants to mix art with life, especially throughout 2019.