I have spent much of my time standing in front of a work of art, admiring the beauty or allowing myself to be enraptured by the skill of the artist. I’ve given myself neckache from staring at Michelangelo’s Sistine Ceiling. I’ve admired the Last Supper and chuckled at the strange proportions of David’s hands and arms. I often admire these works with the thought of, “At least we know more these days about how to store works of art that should keep them available for more future generations than what Da Vinci would have hoped for”.
And then I realise that there isn’t anything comparable worth keeping these days.
Where has all the passion gone?