“What was left was an endless recycling of arts own demise, deconstruction and self-reference replacing a more secret kind of alternity, or the reinvention of more inflexible rules. Andy Warhol managed to complete this anorexic cycle by replacing art with mechanical reproduction, by the same token returning banality to its irremediable enigma. Anything that came after that was bound to merely retrivialize banality, eagerly affixing finality to end an already gone out of sight. Going nowhere, art came to nothing - and everything – simply staying there, grinding its teeth, losing its bite, and then losing the point of it all. It is now floating in some kind of vapid, all consuming euphoria traversed by painful spurts or lucidity, sleep-walking in its sleep, not yet dead, hardly alive, but still thriving”—"The Conspiracy Of Art" - Jean Baudrillard, 1996.