There is a complexity to artistic expression. Especially when it comes to some sort of original artistic expression. But regardless of that initial complexity, it becomes always and without doubt inevitable. Mimetic.
So the original becomes some sort of copy and it is this copying which is perceived as a lesser form of art. Something which eventually evolves into a craft of some description or other. A craft perhaps being the very repetition rather than supposedly original creation.
It is however clear that art does move forwards like everything else. That there is genuine original creation. The juxtaposition in a particular place and time of ideas and practices which produce something not seen before. However it always becomes possible to copy it. To learn how it is done. To use that particular expression to create something increasingly mundane and repetitive.
In fact this form of repetition becomes the most valuable thing art can do. It shows that the quotidian can be the container, but in fact in the quotidian the everyday expression lies the most complex expression.
And similarly, the obverse, that in the least quotidian of moments the least meaning is found. I’m not expressing this properly at all. It’s this idea that I’ve been discussing, perhaps discussing is too grandiose a word, I do in fact hate glamorous love of artistic expression. It makes me cross. I like to think that the really difficult things are to manage with the boring everyday things of life.