Let it be this time, now, when the making of art, something beautiful, is the sole obligation of all people living on the Earth not by fiat from above but from within each one’s heart and never, never, never shall any person tell another what is art. That is simply a stupid thing to ask or say. This comes by something deeper than mind reading or telepathic thinking. It is a pure state of being whereby among the entire population there is one thought only. It is here. Blowing in the wind. Imagine a group of adults standing by the crib of a brand new infant in admiration absent thoughts, words, names, relationships, or any obligation save the one.