Butterflies and Flies

It's a lovely spring day but I woke up thinking about decay. Black fly decay. Butterfly decay. Went to art museum over the weekend and saw an exhibit by Hirst. He covered a canvas with at least a thousand dead flies. Held together by resin. Makes me wonder whether or not he had help. The fly piece was both repulsive and stunning and I'm still thinking about it so I'm counting it as art that did something for me. Also, it stunk. Or maybe that odor was the butterflies in the glass house with the sand and broken glass and scientist mannequin whose hand and lungs moved from time to time. Artist's statement said something about capturing a butterfly, capturing a woman. Or maybe it said girl.

Girl. Capture. Woman. Decay. Spring. Butterfly. Fly. Fly away.

Why am I trying to make sense of someone else's art? There isn't sense.

Better, today, to create my own. Art, that is.