Once upon a time, there was an artist. His art consisted of not only his works but also his interaction with people. That is, talking to him or watching him at work, or maybe joining him in one of his works meant a transformation for the participants, for you were never the same after your experience with this artist.
As benevolent as he was, this artist also enjoyed teaching art to others so that they could enjoy the marvel of creating a piece of art. Over time, many students of his populated the world, and each of those started their own style. Yet, these students never were able to achieve a level of creativity manifested by their teacher. Still, the master artist never boasted about the excellence of his works and he did not distance himself from people. He always stayed with them and involved them in his works either as models or as assistant artists.
However, people were not the same always. Their interests and fears shifted from one thing to another as time passed. So, gradually the participants in the works of the unique artist decreased. Even those who beheld and admired his works became less patient, and focused on things that gave rather quick satisfaction. Day by day, the artist saw the dwindling of the interest of humanity in creating. He wanted to show people what he saw. He wanted to highlight where they were headed with this passive and impatient attitude that contradicted all of the order in the universe.
So, the artist who pitied the humanity went into a vigorous and prolific state of artistic production, which embodied his thunderous call for attention. He made pictures and statues of humans and contrasted them with the nature and the universe. People were not creatures of their own, distinct from the rest of existence. They were not the uncontestable and untouchable monarchs of the universe. They had to come to their senses and be humble creators rather than arrogant consumers.
Having lost their sight of distance, people did not pay attention to these messages that were not anymore in their limited mental focus. Those who had an instant of meeting with these art works simply could not grasp what they meant at all. At some point, the artist started making his paintings overnight and leaving them where they were made, out in the public, so that people did not have to go out of their ways to receive the alerting message ciphered in his art. Even that, unfortunately, did not lead to an appreciable effect, since people, unable to see or understand the art on them, used the canvases as table cloth or construction material. Some of them even used them as shadow makers under the sun so that they could have a picnic.
This went on for a longtime. The ever concerned artist achieved a pace of production so high that it could be called frenzy. The only thing that separated his uninterrupted commitment from frenzy was his utter control of his emotions and expressions in the face of disrespect, indifference and listlessness in people towards his productions. At one point, not only the total number but also his daily production rate reached such a high level that, with the rapid means of distribution, every individual on the planet had at least some contact with this artist through his works. That is, nobody had a right to say that they were not aware of what was coming ahead.
On the side of people, however, the disconnect from the nature and universe was increasing at an unprecedented speed. In this context, the works of the great artist did not mean anything for them, because these works were ubiquitous and so abundant. And abundance meant worthlessness. So, as everything ubiquitous and abundant, the great artist's pieces did not carry much value, which was a shocking contrast to the situation in the past. Still, since people did not want to spend their money on worthless things, they collected the artists pieces freely and either hung them wherever they saw fit or tore them into pieces so that they can be used as raw material or for burning.
What people did not realize was the fact that these paintings and statues were made of special materials that were also a piece of genius art. The microscopic particles of these art pieces actually were responsive to the changes in the environment and were able to act as a single body. Given that the works of the great artist were distributed all around the world and had been used extensively in the infrastructure that people relied on heavily, it was clear that people were gambling on their lives when showing disrespect, indifference and listlessness towards the great artist and his works. But they didn't know...
Until one morning, when all that material that was originally used for art lost stiffness with the ever warming of the air and then decomposed due to the chemical pollution in the environment. Then, everybody learned something was wrong, but they blamed the artist for all that happened. Just a few, though, raised their voices to draw the attentions to truth. Those few were the artists that were raised by the great artist, but people did not have any tolerance towards anything that had to do with that artist.
So, with the silencing of those few, humanity found itself in an anti-art state. Art did not pay the bills anyway! Who would ever need it in the first place? All that mattered was efficient machines that produced cheaply and flawlessly. Machines that outperformed humans in so many ways... After all, who would ever need the flawed and parasitic creatures, called humans?
