Tuesday Mooney Talks To Ghosts

by Kate Racculia

he’d found the fine-art nerds both delusional and charming; they legitimately believed they were creating objects meant to last. Performance, by comparison, had always felt more authentic. Performance was alive, so performance had to die. A piece or a song or a play was designed to last for only as long as it took to perform, to begin and end and echo in the mind. But he had to admit there was something noble, too, in the pursuit of permanence, and something beautiful and sad about how much art had been lost and forgotten by time.