For two thousand years, the artifact has been the repository of art. It
has been seen as the necessary freezing of a moment, spatially,
cognitively, and temporally; without the artifact, according to this
logic, art is invisible.

Contemporary thought has rendered the concept of the artifact more or
less indefensible. The artifact as repository of art is a construct
that needs a lot of supporting materials, bricks that are crumbling one
by one.

The artifact, in order to contain meaning, (assuming art and cognition
have meaning), must be able to contain a chaos-based system of phenomena
within a static structure. The artifact by definition must be static,
insofar as it is to be considered an artifact. Art is chaotic; it
constantly eradicates stasis.

The capacity of the artifact as static structure to contain the chaotic
systems of cognition rests on several assumptions. One is the
monotheistic: there is one source of truth and cognition, priests or
holy men have more access to this substance than lesser humans; lesser
humans require less complexity than the sacred class; thus the image of
the priest's thought is enough to contain the thought of the
congregation.

The artifact requires other beliefs: The artist must know what he or
she is doing, consciously or unconsciously. The artifact is worth
money. Not everything in the world is an artifact, and Brahminic
spheres map the cosmology. Artifacts are sacred; to lose them is to
lose our souls. It is possible to freeze cognition into an image, and
use this image to foster cognition in others. Time can be cheated.
Cognition is written and read, not tasted or felt.

+ + +

The artifact is dying, but it isn't quite dead yet. It's what you might
call moribund, cranky, we're all gathered around the deathbed wondering
what we'll inherit. I think the Stallman Manifesto makes a great point:
intellectual property is theft from the joy of giving and the mellow
magic it brings. Artifacts are of course intellectual property for the
imagination. It's as though we've been duped by our brain's inordinate
skill at cataloging objects in three dimensions as edible or inedible,
cuddly or murderous.

+ + +

The web is an interesting place because it's on the faultline. Disney
artifacts sell like rats in a sewer, and even the high artifacts have a
presence (though it is rather meek). Museums look good on the web.

The web also has spawned new Manifestos of Media Access. These
manifestos often help to break the artifact into its component pieces of
dust; we even have a name for this: iconoclasm or image-smashing. A
mood of optimism can result, sometimes, that the artifact didn't
actually hold the art in the first place. It's like space, time, air,
and brains: everybody's got some already. A new problem emerges,
however, just like original sin. How do you keep art free from the
artifact? Are we ready for a political economy of cognition free from
domination?

+ + +

In my opinion this is the only art worth making, the art that doesn't
crawl back into a new hovel of artifice. If people want to buy art,
tell them it can't be bought. If they ask you why you're a great artist
and a good investment, tell them you're not. If people want to pay for
your art, give it to them for free. If people ask you to explain your
art, do so at length, permanently so to speak, even as you wear a dunce
cap on your head that says "Explaining Art is Impossible and You are a
Dunce." If people are depressed and frozen, try to show them there is
still breathing room. If people think they live in poverty, prove
they're already as rich as Croesus. Refuse to say otherwise, then say
otherwise, then go wrestle women on TV or teach kids how to play tennis.

+ + +

All this leads to the paradox of value in the the post-artifact world:
only things that are free can ever be worth anything. When everything
is bought and paid for everyone is a pauper.