My students feel art must deliver everything to them on a clean platter with ample portions. They sit in their chairs and expect to eat, to gorge, to be engorged. Give them a new menu, an unusual recipe, they don't approach it with glee, with the hunger for new tastes, with forks poised and knives sharpened; they squirm, squeal, squeak in pitiful revolt. Give me my fast food.
We are entrenched in The Age of Lazy Intellect.