I sometimes feel as if i have been standing beside an open grave my whole life. In the bottom of the hole lies the uncoffined body of Art. Throughout the 20th century the grave has been visited by a steady stream of 'artists', all of whom have, in turn, thrown a handful of earth upon the naked body. Recently the visitors have, as if desperate to hide the thing, taken to throwing in spadefuls.
For a while Augustus jumped into the hole and attempted to remove the dirt with nothing more than a teaspoon. He gave up in the end.
The grave is full now... I kneel beside it waiting for new shoots to appear.