I sometimes fear that the abundance of culture, art, and history that has proceeded us, and been so well preserved, has locked us into a bit of a "time bubble" in terms of artistic endeavors.
We still have painters, and writers, and thinkers of all backgrounds... but so much of what is made now is eerily reminiscent of pre-(H)istory works, even though our world and lives are so vastly different.
Perhaps there is a comfort in recreating the stories that we grew up on? And in a world that feels so precarious the fact that these stories stretch back before our time is a solid base in which to fantasize.
Or perhaps, no matter how vastly the world changes, people are still people. Maybe there are only so many stories we wish to tell, and we endlessly retell them, like eating the same few meals again and again, because at the end of the day that is what we hunger for.
-Notations on culture, by (H)istorian Costanza Godhand