My heart had been an empty shell, lifeless for years; and without any warning, I felt it stir once more. There it was, feeble and shrunken, a mere echo of what once was.
In the East art has collapsed because it has been knocked down & trampled upon, but in the West the fall has been voluntary, a decline into a contrived & pretentious quest where the artist, instead of attempting to reveal the divine plan, tries to put himself in the place of God.