Life is Art - oh, really? In glossy B & W it is.

Since when has decluttering, cleaning, wiping, cleansing, washing, soaking  become art?

There's a black and white photo I've rediscovered of a kitchen sink in a delapidated counter that pretty much says it all.

Except there's no place to put it so I can see it and know that this state of affairs is a shared anguish.

This photograph has the distinction of being the first piece of art I've bought and not traded for...or surreptitously thought that if I wanted one badly enough I could make my own.  (Come to think of it, I do have a similar snapshot burried in my clutter - a snapshot I didn't have the courage to call a photograph) 

 The artist was alone in a booth, surrounded by kitsch-artists.  She was just a kid, and I had the honour of watching her self-esteem flower as she accepted my $8 that justified her as artist and photographer.