that art is art,
that it is continual not continuous,
that it is not
that precious
that it occurs without thought of perfection (
that thought occurring because of it, and
that leading to stone and time and techniques
that will conserve
that which would not have needed
that so much if
that artist had followed Continuousism
that cares, not Continualism
that doesn't)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem