Heisenberg may have shat here.

Thomas Crapper strokes his beard while musing over the red paper placed down in front of him by a Japanese waitress with an immense and heaving bosom. The query "Kindly unbridle your heaving bosom, m'lady?" is whispered inside his head. He is angered at yet another alien intrusion.

After the flushing of his face, Thomas realizes that the red paper is a menu. He looks up and across the table at his dining chum John Harington, who is also gazing bemusedly at the statement in black overly simplified calligraphy. Their waitress retracts herself most effeminately into the utter darkness which surrounds their table.

"John, if we discuss this in terms of logic, these statements—'critical acclaim' and 'financial rewards'—are correlative-based fallacies.  Also, stalls being public places of defecation, you, as a graffitist, know that your work will be viewed; so acclaim is a factor.  Purity may be defined contextually, e.g. 'purely whore'.  Art is what the artist creates out of desire (selfishly?).  Art is the pure whore.  To place a moral value on art, the desire must be judged (to Kant and I the moral value is absolute rather than relative).  That is irrelevant to this argument.  Graffiti is pure in that it is unconstrained.  Aesthetic value and tastes...unaccountable for. I am reminded at this moment of Edmund Burke's words.

Reading without reflecting is like eating without digesting.

John Harington nods with his head down, still looking at the menu. He opens it. His expression changes dramatically into disgust and revulsion. He is reading the entrée offerings.

Anal Butter
Coeliac Flux
Feculence
Shitlets
Green Apple Spatters
Ding Cherries

"Why let them bother you?", asks Thomas with a nervous smile.

John Harington closes his menu.

"You say art is selfish. I remind you of Native American sandpainting, Indigenous Australian sandpainting, Tibetan sandpainting, Japanese Tray Pictures, Georgian Sand Painting! Works created and then destroyed by the artists, the only eyes to behold them having been their own! They are created for religious ceremony, for healing, for summoning the forces of Good! They come not from the artist locking himself away and giving himself over to desire, but are borne from the artist locking himself away and giving himself over."

It is Thomas' turn to look disgusted.

"So then, art is not selfish! Self-sacrificing art is holy! Holy in that its creators seek eternal security, respite from their insecurity, release from their fears! They create, destroy, produce faith, are god emulators! In any event, sand painting is worthy of study, if not appraisal, and indeed of Aesthetic value!"

As Thomas' face is fully in flush, their waitress returns. Her face is contorted into something utterly malevolent and demonic. Her fluidity of movement is as a writhing aquatic serpent. She holds a covered golden dish. As she approaches, Thomas Crapper knows that he has won his dinner. John Harington is allowed to excuse himself to the bathroom.