"Under the white clouds, snow is falling. You can't see the white clouds, or the snow. Or the cold, or the white glow of the earth. A solitary man glides downhill on his skis. The snow is falling. It falls until the man disappears back into the landscape. My friend Serge, who's one of my oldest friends, has bought a painting. It's a canvas about five feet by four. It represents a man who moves across a space then disappears." Art, Y.Reza 1. Art is what you make of it. You construct your own interpretation - if you find something worthy of being deemed 'meaningful', then it becomes art to you. 2. What does it matter anyway? Our lives are given to us then rudely taken away in a moment, like a man who moves across a space then disappears. Our tiny little lives look the same from afar anyway, homogenous, indistinct, indistinguishable - a blank canvas. Who but we to formulate some sort of meaning for the little speck of existence we share. 3. It