No ordinary objects Abandoned by the world, no longer of use, but still carefully repaired and preserved, these were no ordinary objects. The reasons for their maintenance remain a mystery. At this point, they could only be described as "art". No—not so much "art" as something that exceeds art... Hyperart. Genpei Akasegawa & Matt Fargo, Hyperart: Thomasson artrepairthomassonsobjects
Hyperart: U.S. Rail The steepest grade on U.S. main-line track is at the small town of Saluda, on a Norfolk Southern route between Spartanburg, South Carolina, and Asheville, North Carolina. The grade goes on for three miles at a slope of 4 or 5 percent. Trains have not been running on the line since 2001, but the tracks are still maintained. Brian Hayes, Infrastructure: A Guide to the Industrial Landscape thomassonsgeographytransportation
Thomassons This was 1982, the year that Gary Thomasson was batting cleanup for the Yomiuri Giants. Thomasson had the unfortunate nickname of "The Electric Fan", which, if you think about it, was exactly what he was. Night after night, he stood in the batter's box, whiffing mightily at the ball, down on three strikes every time. He had a fully-formed body and yet served no purpose to the world. And the Giants were still paying a mint to keep him there. It was a beautiful thing. I'm not being ironic here either. Seriously, I can't think of any way to describe Gary Thomasson but as "living hyperart". Genpei Akasegawa & Matt Fargo, Hyperart: Thomasson sportsthomassons
To see the fulfillment of the work It is true that [the artist], like everybody else, derives remuneration from his work (though not, strictly speaking, profit in the financial sense, of the word, since what he invests in his work is not money but time and skill, whose returns cannot be calculated in percentages). The remuneration is frequently beyond the amount necessary to enable him to go on working. What is remarkable about him is the way in which he commonly employs the escape-from-work which the extra remuneration allows him. If he is genuinely an artist, you will find him using his escape-from-work in order to do what he calls “my own work”, and nine times out of ten, this means the same work (i.e. the exercise of his art) that he does for money. The peculiar charm of his escape is that he is relieved, not from the work but from the money. What distinguishes him here from the man who works to live is, I think, his desire to see the fulfilment of the work. Dorothy Sayers, The Mind of the Maker For its own sakeThe saddest designer craft