The problem with talking about art, I think, is that there's still a hangover from romantic assumptions that art intrinsically has something. I don't think art intrinsically has very much at all. I think nearly everything that it has is conferred upon it by our collective history of experiencing art. So we create the value. I think when something is exciting to you, a picture or a piece of music, what's exciting is that you're hearing the latest sentence in a conversation you've been having all your life. When you look at a painting, you don't just see that painting, you see every other picture you've ever seen. So that painting is in the context of every picture you've ever seen. When I do a talk about this, sometimes a lecture, I do a quite good trick. I have projected on the screen behind me because I draw things and so on as I'm talking. And at the top left corner of the screen is this little sentence which says, I used to have a car like that. And I don't ever draw attention to it or mention it, I just carry on doing. But the sentence is always up there. On a certain point, I'm talking about the idea of the art being the piece of art being the latest or the most final for you at that moment statement in this long conversation you've been having. And then I tell this story about this American guy who came to England to discover his ancestors who came from Devon. And he was driving around Devon. He was a very wealthy Texan, actually. And he sees an old farmer sitting on a gate and he says, it's your land. And the farmer says, yeah, it is. It goes all the way from top of the hill there down to the river. That's all mine. And the Texan laughs and he says, if I get up in the morning, I can drive all day before I get to the other end of my land. And the farmer says, yeah, I used to have a car like that. And the point is until you hear the rest of the story, the sentence makes no sense at all. You don't know what it's about. And I think one of the first things to understand about artworks is that they're all punchlines. They're all the latest sentence in the story. And they don't make sense in the abstract. So first of all, you're never looking at one piece of art. You're looking at that in terms in a huge context. The whole of the rest of the joke is there. So this thing slots in. So what you're aware of are differences. Once you understand that, it's much easier to understand what music is doing. You might, whatever you've heard, you might never have heard something as soft as that, or as angular, or as loud, or whatever it is. So, and of course, those properties have meaning to you. You know, when I first started making ambient music, the first thing reviewers noticed was everything that was missing. It doesn't have a beat. It doesn't have a melody. It doesn't really have any chords. It doesn't have words. So all it had was space, actually. And that's what people picked up on. They'd never heard music with as much space as that, actually. So the difference was both what it was missing and what it therefore had as a result. I was thinking about this way of thinking about music as basically controlled surprise. We have this deep evolutionary instinct to be interested in surprising facts about the world. And we make a prediction. This is going to end this way, and our brains are wired to pay attention to it. And so that keeps us searching out new sounds and new melodies or new formal possibilities because we have to be surprised on some level. But it's interesting, isn't it, that you can re-experience that surprise lots and lots of times and still love it? Whereas if I told you that joke again, it wouldn't be so funny, would it? And if I told it to you then for a third time, you'd start to get a bit fed up with it. And if I told you about 150 times that joke, I'd be like, I've got a really good one. There's this guy comes over from America to find his roots in Devon. He meets this farmer. So it's interesting to me that we... It is a long half-life. Yes, yes, that's right. Music can actually remain, as I can attest to now, exciting for 40 or 50 years. You still like it. But there's obviously something more complicated than my punchline theory going on as well.