Richard Tuttle for Karl Hikade, September 12 1989, Galisto, New Mexico

• Art is temporary in the mind of the viewer—like the vision in the past, it holds the viewer.
• Anywhere art stands in being relation, art stands alone, "being relation" being solvent upon matter.
• Whichever way counts like others, is like others. In art the same effort always precedes.
• Being necessitates givens. Acquiring givens, like art, is past procedurism pluraled.
• Time threatens back to time-ic wondering, transforms, adjusts, falls, like art, orange on a landscape.
• Storyline coursing laterally, doomed to submission in sand, springs back, clearly echoing art's values.
• Height frequency zeroes backward to rocks—can I say "purpled"?—purpled, like rocks in art's sister spokesman, here.
• The range might carry scratched earth, which way the sun decides, touching in shadows as it goes. Art decides whenever it goes.
• The touch that generates pure space is forward. Can we see it written about? Parallelism, art, come back into your own.
• Over there, it listens. Art possesses. A rainbow would tell us not art—the edge of issues. In the dryness, I am thinking.