One of the joys of living is the way in which one can ‘enjoy’ on many levels the art of others. Whatever the medium and almost whatever the age, their minds are available in a wide variety of places. I was talking a long time ago to a painter and I said it is a sad thing to think that when humanity leaves this planet as it crashes into the sun, there will be no works of any of the artists I know still extant, everything will have degraded and be kept out of necessity as a hologrammatic image.
His response was positive because he said in a way that is how it should be, allowing new people to rediscover work and re-imagine what others did before them, in much the same way as we have with cave paintings which are as far from some works of art as it is possible to be, or writing from the cuneiform examples of which show no poetry whatsoever, to new languages which do. And languages change all the time leaving once fine poets, unknown to most people.
Human beings love fame and love the ‘name’ but actually in the flow of ideas it is never the name that’s important.