We moisten a work of art with meaning like an authoritarian religion: baptizing by force. The work becomes an object of language, of speech about the work. It pushes the work into the discourse system of the subject’s utterances. It is pressed to give significations. It must fabricate a whole set of signs, symbols, syllogisms, reasoning, metaphors. In short, we fill the work with established thoughts, horizons of words, enunciations or morals. We are covetous in our translations. And why do we fill up the work? We are really scared of the emptiness of the work of art. An attempt to pierce the work with meaning, to get at it by interpretation, deciphering, tautology, doesn’t this all fail in the end to give proper weight to the suspension of the work? At the site of the exemption of meaning all that is obstruction, which is to say, all that is filled-in, slips away into an evacuative suspension. Talking about works of art or interpreting my own work as I do often on my blog,I am adding to the obstructions, backfilling experience. I superimpose my own meanings onto my work. The blog is like a record of my imposed equations. Injected with so much writing and language circling around the work, it sends one into constrained, merely ‘communicative’ means. I try to remind myself and hopefully remind others that the event of the making of the work is the most important because in those moments no such thing exists to fill in the mystical silence, profound, heavy with echoes of matter’s presence. With the material presence of the work there is a silence diffusing the encounters of the subject. All that is left is the presence of absence slipping beyond the reign of content. If we could really view the form then it would hit us like a flash of lightning. If one knows how to see the work, then one is ushered into that zero that diffuses the regime of code. A good work of art does not communicate to us, it suspends us.