Which isn’t to say that one will not encounter, in galleries or arthouses, or among the books that one would read, or the music that one would hear, works that attempt to be art but fail, so that one must tolerate them and the fact that they would impose themselves on one’s attention, disguising themselves with gestures or with tricks that one must learn how to recognize, so that one can distinguish them from that which is genuine and original, and that transports you rather than drains you, but that amidst them there are to be found works that do, by way of their very strangeness or inventiveness (provided it is not gratuitous, but is a component of the art), reward the earnest audience with an expansion of the soul.