Is there any difference between planting a forest, mass producing servers, and wrapping an island in pink woven polypropylene fabric? What used to be limited to a set of tools has now grown in potential.

To explore this it is crucial to understand that art is essentially reality, and not essentially just part of it.
The artwork becomes part of reality when not definitive, not ultimate, and eventually limited; but (art)works are always real in the same way as a volcano eruption or a public scandal are, and essentially tend to define reality in an ultimate way. An artist can’t but try an ultimate definition of her object — be it a sitter or an idea. 
Art/human production is no metaphor.
If we imagine that in a 1000 years an artist could realise an artwork involving the creation of a second sun, we see this potential justified.

(and we see it in your microcosm,
how your reality is changed by small objects, by colours, by dreams, by words
— how this potential is justified everyday by small daily things)

Then a whole world opens up in front of your eyes: you turn to content against form:
what should the theme exploited by this potential be?

and yet
“no man can suffer the fragmentary nature of his understanding of his own life.” What is the relationship of our understanding — our relationship — to the objects of this world? 
We all have images, ideas, consequent impressions about them — even if our impression is the lack of any interest — judgements, values to order them — all ways which Kant would call, in varying measure, “having an object [present to the understanding]”, conceiving.
When the understanding looks for conformity between our conceptions and their objects, we must consider the reality of our conceptions. This is granted by the “active”, immediate relationship of production of our intuition to conceiving (in so far as conceptions are conform to intuition, as Kant would maybe consider putting it). Through intuition, our conception of reality/objects is not only equally but additionally real, and any conformity becomes a direction, a game, irrelevant.

The potential of conceiving bridges into the physical and empirical along our physicality as humans, which is increasing across time as we develop our physical potential. (However physicality per-se is not the proper object of our intuition. Science is just a language. Truth is not in science — scientific conclusions are not true but just proven. Truth is in science as prophecy, still, today, when we are beginning “to discover the truth that in great [works] a creative force is at work making objects which alone complete science and allow intelligence to survive”)
Attention turns to definition.

Stay with definition. Keep your analysis in laboratories, your social references for politics, replication for spectacle — and stay with definition. Don’t make a film to understand your parent-child relationship — make a film to have two mothers, to let someone be a father
and don’t look for, and don’t waste the electricity & fire of poetry, aim it please,
please Allen, please, why couldn’t you aim it, Allen, why was it only vanity


Now that coding is a language, theory must be revalued.


Art was seen as decoration of men’s microcosms, so as τεκνη, la simulazione, la rappresentazione, tra le altre cose, della natura, arricchimento di dettagli e intagli all’interno del microcosmo.
We began our understanding of the macrocosm, we say in 1612 through to 1687. Now, in which way exactly gravity as a force is something different from network connectivity and connectivity-processed inputs? Since centuries now the role of human making over the world has been clearing.

We heard before that inspired technical creation is recreation of the universe (Solger) or at least that it shares some kinship with ‘divine’ creation (Coleridge), and that actually it is the natural that should ‘imitate’ our making (famously Wilde, springing into your industry of culture through Gide).

What we heard before is the solitude of this force (any proper romantic cannot but be an ironist), misplaced next to the world. “Now works of art cannot be left in this category […], they must be real, not realism but reality itself”.
There is no divine making outside of making itself. ‘Meant to be imitated’ is a direction ahead of art making as expression. But making as definitionwhich is what makes all these statements true in their own respect, and human the place/matrix/force of truth in nature — art as definition springs in a thousand (conic) directions, like a sun-ray. 

For now, it is only normal to be overwhelmed by the surge in craft potential of the last decades. “[It] must give not a sense of frustration but a sense of completion, […] of enlargement — revivification of values

Think of the ever been POWER OF THE WORD. Fast and clear; it is a miracle, the fact that this
‘uncovers’ to your mind, that it gives things the chance to be clear before being so. 
Before being so in poetry, for the first time behind our eyes, in essence.
Think of the poetry of the first born defining the role of mothership by crying out her need. Think of ποιεῖν, think of Hölderlin.

Man has the capacity of singling out themes and give a sense to reality. Projects realised today in this mentality still belong to the practice of forecast. They could compete with central banks if their makers gave them equal space and concentration (and if they were granted a rightful central bankers’ pay). Here is the potential of something small — in its relationship to the rest of the world, in its forecast of behaviour and consequences under a certain aegis and image of the world.

As he said, giving it an explicit title:
“[…] The vivid transparency that you bring is peace.
Perceiving the idea 
of this invention, this invented world,

[…] And seeing the sun again with ignorant eye

And seeing it clearly in the idea of it.
It is the celestial ennui of apartments

That sends us back to the first idea.

The monastic man is an artist.
But the priest desires. The philosopher desires.

It is desire at the end of winter […]
Of what we feel from what we think, of thought,

Beating in the heart, […]

That gives a candid kind to everything.
[…] [that] inscribes a primitive astronomy.

There was a myth before the myth began,
Venerable and articulate and complete. 

From this the poem springs: that we live in a place

That is not our own and, much more, not ourselves

[…] that we add to them”

And we sit here…

there in the arena…