One way to examine the relationship between art and life would be from the standpoint of production, as the individual artist’s vision necessarily reflects (even if by conscious negation) the conditions of possibility established by cultural and economic circumstances, training, etc. Another is to think about sites of engagement between art and its multivalent audiences, as the work reverberates thorough countless different contexts. Given that this particular dialogue is hosted by a museum in relation to the work of an artist who crafts very precisely calibrated responses to this institution and its practices, I’d like to offer a few brief thoughts about the current significance of the art museum in a way that balances approbation and critique.

For starters, linking antimaterialism to a critique of consumer society does not apply in the same way to the objects held by the museum, for the simple fact that their entry into the collection means by and large that they have been taken out of market circulation (and controversies about museum deaccessions only show how dearly this principle is held). Looking at a work of art held in a public collection is not the same as privately possessing that object. In this respect the museum is an important forum for public dialogue about art in its full range of forms, from object-based works to dematerialized acts.

Yet it is also important to note that the idealistic pursuit acknowledged through the museum’s nonprofit status is hardly without impact in the for-profit realm. The objects that reside in the museum often have close cousins out in the world, with their value in the super-expensive luxury market conveniently enhanced by the status associated with museum ownership. And the same art institutions that provide viewing access to the general public also serve as elite meeting grounds for their wealthy benefactors.

An interesting way to consider Sehgal’s gambit of emptying out the museum (save for the performers, audience, and museum staff) is that he has highlighted an aspect of the institution that was already one of its distinguishing virtues. Museums do and should continue to present a different sort of experience than a visit to the mall. Discounting for the moment the ubiquitous gift shops and substantial admission fees, museums frame a space for public interaction that is not entirely founded upon a depressingly pervasive equation between leisure time and consumption.

As I envision a sustainable future, one of the things I am most excited about is a release of labor time from the market economy, or an end to what I’ve called the work-and-spend cycle. In a sustainable economy, people will work fewer hours for pay and have more time to create and connect with each other. Without that time, art does not happen, both because it is time-consuming to produce and because a frenetic lifestyle is not conducive to what it requires.

Of course, we do need a new financial model for art. We are already seeing the collapse of the restrictive profit model in music, publishing, and other cultural outlets. Rapidly changing technologies may well make going back to the world of walled off content impossible. But when so much content is available without cost, how do we support artists? Even if a solution to this problem is not now in view, I am confident that we will find a new way to both make content widely available at low cost and support the people who produce it.

Peter also asks about the larger entertainment world. In addition to having a more decentralized production process with more participation from nonprofessionals, I wonder if we can stem the tide of commercial intrusion into the production of art and culture. The distinction between high and popular art may have disappeared, but the commercial interests driving popular art forms have not abated. Product placements, advertorials, product-driven plot lines, and similar practices are thriving. I’d love to see less of our entertainment geared toward the purchase of products, especially for children, whose cultural landscape has been almost completely colonized by brands.

Environmental journalists such as myself strive to make the invisible visible and bring distant concerns to life: the loss of biodiversity in the Amazon, environmental injustice in an inner city, climate change in Topeka and Tuvalu. How do we stretch hearts, expand minds, and widen eyes enough to take in the whole world? Through studies of humanitarian crises, psychologist Paul Slovic has determined that we as a species cannot fathom the enormity of social problems on a global scale. It is only when reducing these challenges to the plight of a single individual are we compelled to act.

While there are inspiring ways to tell stories from afar, participation often begets deeper understanding. This is especially true when trying to articulate environmental challenges. In light of work, chores, kids, laundry, bills, and reruns of American Idol, distant or abstract concerns lose primacy. According to psychologists Patricia Linville and Gregory Fischer, humans swim in “a finite pool of worry.” We cannot hold every care in our consciousness. When concerns about one issue go up, concerns about another go down. In order to engage disparate populations, we must work with frameworks that already exist, in situations that are already familiar, within cares that people already hold.

We cannot miss what we don’t know. So, in the absence of being there (whether witnessing a couple locked in an embrace in Sehgal’s exhibition or watching polar bears struggle on an ice floe), we have to rely on trusted guides. The guide that helped me navigate Sehgal’s work was artist Lorae Russo. Lorae observed that the exhibit challenged the notion of art as a commodified object, yet, as a commissioned piece that visitors paid to access, was still involved in monetary exchange. “Can we challenge the structure and behavior while still participating in the exchange?” she asked. “I say, ‘Yes.’ I had to reassess the definition of art in order to give the benefit of my doubt that it was. There is no such thing as purity or absolutes.”

The stories we share, the stories we witness, the stories we live require continual reassessment. What we knew to be true yesterday may fall away today—and it always exists on a continuum. Sehgal’s truth is the truth of one intimate exchange in one moment in time. Does he limit mediated access because he wants you to trust your own experience? I’m not sure. I guess you had to be there.