Painting in the information age has one task and one task only: to seduce the cyborg. To pretend that no gap could ever keep them apart. To fake its orgasms and dope itself. It must get closer to the programs unleashed by digital cameras and computers, and appropriate the logic of these infernal machines. If painting embraces its loss of distinction to the program, and becomes even more committed in this affair, it might discover ways of making itself as smart and effective as any other contemporary device. But it must not lose its stupidity either.
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