A new piece of work has appeared outside my block of flats. I have no idea who it is by or why it is there. I only know that I would like to buy it but have no doubt that I couldn't afford it. Why do I like it so much? Well, I've christened it "The Writer". Look at the pictures first and then I'll explain why that talking about this piece fits with the aim of this blog.
The writer sits on their own but is embedded in their environment. They are isolated but in touch. They concentrate, looking outward and inward at the same time, just like the look on this statue's face. And things grow out of them, maybe out of their mind but maybe out of their body. And they and the words they use are made up of all the words and writings written before. They cannot separate themselves from the past and their environment.
Culture is made up in the same way. We are all individuals but we cannot separate ourselves from our environment. A cultural object grows out of these individuals. And yet it is made up of all the signs that existed before and the meaning which they construct.