A poem by our poet laureate Kay Ryan and a quote by Donald Barthelme got me thinking about abstract art today

But how dark

is darkest?

Does it get 

jet-or tar-

black; does it

glint and increase 

in hardness

or turn viscous?

Are there stages

of darkness

and chips

to match against

its increments,

holding them

up to our blindness,

estimating when

we'll have this

night behind us?

Kay Ryan interviewed on NPR 3/25/09

.....Saul Bellow argued that the modern novel was "predominantly realistic" because "realism is based on our common life". Bartheleme countered that a "mysterious shift....takes place as soon as one says that art is not about something but is something", when the literary text "becomes an object in the world rather than a commentary upon the world." This excerpted from The Story Artist by Colm Toibin, NYT Book Review March 22. 2009