Now a work of art is a work of nature, but it is a work of human nature. It is a work of the mind: and it’s a work of the mind in circumstances for an occasion which, to which, for which, and which it may be supremely natural and simple and effective.
The primitive ideals of centralization are now largely self-defeating. Human crucifixion by vertically on the now static checkerboard of the old city is pattern already in agony; yet for lack of any organic planning it is going on and on-not living, but rather hanging by its eyebrows from its nervous system.
