Now, to be clear, we are different from previous arts movements. Where postmodernism decried the institution of having institutions, we see the contradiction–how that sentiment sets up its own institution of pure negation and therefore negates itself. We see how it makes a claim that only a fool could make. If we ever make claims of negation, we make them against things and towards something–towards an end claim of some sort, the exact kind of end claim which postmodernism eschewed in its cowardice. We put on the armor of poesis and take a stand. We declare that beauty is real. We declare that it is not subjective–that there is no arguing over what is or isn’t beautiful. We declare that taste must self-subordinate in relation to universal beauty, for the mind can habituate to horrible things. We agree that perception is reality, but we also claim that vaguely shared perceptions of beauty in natural phenomena move towards a vague, shared sense of beauty. We declare that the slasher flick, the giant penis sculpture, the obscene and the disgusting, are not beautiful. We revile these dishonest and narcissistic expressions that claim to embody art. We consign them to the dump of history and wipe our hands.
We understand that not everyone will understand. We get that many people still like to self-flagellate through the ingestion of diseased artistic expressions. The rush of poison is addicting. Our work will pass these poor people by until they agree that their malaise has gone far enough. When and if they ever reach this point, they may turn their heads up and see the beauty that we channeled long ago–that which we channeled direct from the source. If our art speaks to them then, it has succeeded. If it reaches one person now, it has succeeded.