Interpretation art is that which is immediately thrown and added onto everything — texts, music scores, myths, cultures, juggling historical styles and exploits — and destroys that which already exists, with citations and irony, and works in layers in that it creates new worlds through old, without guaranteeing an experience, through cabaret effects and excitations, interchangeably and arbitrarily, in a multicultural way, dependent on fashion and a slave to technology, quick and cheap, through buttons and internationally distributed clips, like photography and film, similar to electronics, as long as one does not work against it, and that is called using technology instead of exploitation of the world.
The other art, as we know it from older times, which grew slowly and from bases on which we stood, bases of the heart, this other and genuine art of history will have no chance — apart from in the changing exhibitions of the comprehensive catalogs of interpretation around the world and in the peripheral regions of pluralism — when this interpretation art becomes the standard and nothing ever grows again, and is used up interpretatively in this way, in the new art. In a re-interpretation, the world is newly construed as if re-educated. It is like the peasant who sells his land in order to buy machines and wonders that his children have no more land for the machines. What is the comfortable life worth to him without life itself?
The landowner is finally re-educated to be a proprietor without property, in a recreation park without land.
Every oafish provocateur uses the hour that he evoked in lacerating battles. The clever one will gladly leave the driving out of this dirt to his servants, so that everybody says, “See, like mangy dogs again,” while he stands aside, elegantly laughing, until one day they expose him, find him and catch him. And then he will say, “See how they are, wicked as always.”