Something I have enjoyed as a child is having art on my chopsicks, on my spoons, and on my bowls. A good place for art is in everyday life. Good to see it on motorways now too. Here is art in a ball point pen. More than art, which can be aimless cleverness, here is some fifth dimensionality in the form of the mythical creature that may be real on another plane. Too much cleverness is taught. Not much forgiveness is known until the dult has to live by it or lose reality itself. We are our morphic fields and physicality drops into it very neatly, though probably imperfectly?