We are for art.
We are for art in backyards, on sidewalks, and stages made of orange crates.
We are for art that shouts from the rooftops, sprawls across walls, and leaps from the stage.
We are for cheap art, loud art, pure art, and art that doesn't even know it's art.
We are for the art that dances in the spotlight and hums quietly in the wings.
We are for art that sees extraordinary beauty in ordinary things.
We are for art found in cereal boxes, comic books, and cheeseburger wrappers.
We are for art displayed in museums and sold in corner shops.
We are for spur-of-the-moment, seat-of-your-pants, who-knows-what-will-happen art.
We are for art that yearns and reaches, grows and stretches, tries and fails.
We are for art by old masters and new pioneers.
We are for art that surprises with its wit and amuses with its charm.
We are for art—expressive, explosive and mute.
We are for priceless art and art that's priced by the pound.
We are for made art, planned art, found art, and lost art.
We are for art hung in frames and stuck to the fridge with magnets.