Sanderson had turned forty-two just the week before, and he had in fact spent the better part of his adult life as an unsuccessful sculptor. A simple artist at heart, his career had become a series of desperate reversals as he dabbled with every medium from porcelain to Play-Doh, searching for the one that would work. Yet nothing ever did. He wasn't a creative genius or even particularly talented, but he spent his every waking hour meticulously perfecting his creations, obsessively refusing to complete a work until it exactly mirrored some ideal in his mind. It was really only the creation that he loved, because he was never satisfied with the outcome. Nothing ever turned out the way he wished, and nothing ever sold that well. Art eventually turned frustrating and depressing, little more than a way to eke out a living.

On the eighteenth day of May in the year 1986, it all became too much. He had just put the finishing touch ("© 1986 Alphred Sanderson") on an unassuming clay vase-- how could he possibly screw up a simple vase? It had looked so lovely, so perfect, going into the kiln, but when it emerged, it seemed somehow-- off. It was driving him mad-- what was wrong with it?-- if only he could go back and tinker with it, just a little more, just a little bit more!-- and before he knew what he was doing he had dashed it to the floor. And somehow-- he never figured out how-- the news found its way to the media...

The art community went nuts.

Poor Alphred... was suddenly the greatest artist of the twentieth century. His unique style of Dashism was hailed as a bold departure from the old, Preservationist ideas. (Imagine, keeping a finished work in one piece! How passé!) Soon he couldn't shatter his old creations fast enough; within a week complete sets of shards were auctioning off for millions of dollars apiece. The studio floor with the first unceremonious pile of broken clay became holy ground, and young photographers flocked to the scene as a sort of rite of passage. A new performance art was born as experts studied the technique of his throwing arm, which was quickly insured for a large, undisclosed sum. Sanderson became a living legend, and he finally found satisfaction through his work. He died in a bizarre gardening accident on the third of March, 1999, but his work continues to shape humanity's basic perceptions of art itself. Recently, rumors have begun that his old studio will be expanded into an extension of the Smithsonian, but the details remain fuzzy.

How is this relevant to singingsword.com? Sanderson taught us all that art is a journey, that the process of creation can be far more meaningful than the finished result itself. His legacy will live on in this website, where the staff solemnly swear forever to improve, to seek new horizons, so that the journey shall have no end. When will singingsword.com be completed? Never, my friend. Never.

(On a side note, Alphred Sanderson is a fraud and a fabrication; he never existed. Although I may be ill-informed, to my best knowledge, the Dashism movement has not yet been born. I suspect, however, that it is only a matter of time. Who will begin the revolution? Will it be you, Visitor? I pray it is so. For then, you will have seen it here first, and I will be entitled to hideously gratuitous royalties. There's a reason I named it .com.)

© 2003 Christopher J. Culter.
To contact me, please send email to "chris" at this domain name.