Her body is one big refrigerator, where Art is well stored.

Art and order, the relatives that refuse to relate.

No art can possibly comfort HER then, even though art is credited with so many things, especially an ability to offer solace. Sometimes, of course, art creates the suffering in the first place.

Strictly speaking, there are no holidays for art; art pursues you everywhere, and that's just fine with the artist.

The mob not only grabs hold of art without being entitled to do so, but it also enters the artist. It takes up residence inside the artist and smashes a few holes in the wall, windows to the outer world: The mob wants to be seen.