A sensibility is almost, but not quite, ineffable.

There will need to be some kind of unfolding in order to contain it, and there will need to be layers. We are dealing with the ineffable here—we’re out there somewhere between the known and the unknown, trying to reel in both for a closer look.

Like transcendental art, the criticism of transcendental art is a self-destructive process. It continually deals in contradictions—verbalizations of the ineffable

And we leave the deeper thing in the work of art, which is also famously the most ineffable, its tone or mood, which is like a sensation of echo, which we often take away quite mutely and quietly