I just started reading Anna Halprin’s Moving Toward Life.  Halfway through the preface, I was hit hard with the utter repetitiveness of art-making.  We’re caught up in the same dramas generation after generation, stuck on the idea that we’ve found something new.  We know this.  We all know it.  Even the idea that nothing is new is not new, and yet a striving for newness persists.  Why?  I don’t know, but I’m comforted by the number of us exploring the question.  Since nothing I have to say on the subject is unique anyway, I may as well leave you with a quote:

“There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before; like the larks in this country that have been singing the same five notes over for thousands of years.” (Willa Cather, O Pioneers!)