The plastic arts of architecture, sculpture, and painting, the narrative arts of poetry, the novel, drama, and film, as well as the musical arts all have long provided access for individuals to the possibility of awakening from their naturalized state of consciousness; they have provided the means to shock them out of deadening habit. Habituation to a particular conceptual state, according to Fredric Jameson in his Prison House of Language, “strengthens us in the feeling that the things and events among which we live are somehow ‘natural,’” or permanent (58). Reinforcing art’s privileged role in snapping us out of our semi-permanent, mesmerized stupor, Jameson introduces Shklovsky’s term ostranenie, defamiliarization, as the proper function of art. This quality offers us the prospect “to be reborn to the world in its existential freshness and horror” (51), and which promises us “the renewal of perception” (52). But when was the last time you had such an experience via the apprehension of a work of art? Walter Benjamin laments that in the age of mechanical reproduction the aura of the original work of art is lost in its convenient conversion to accessibility in the multitudes of simulations produced for economic profit (“The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction”). How, then, can depotentialized works of art reawaken us to the “existential freshness and horror” of life? And would we want such an awakening? After all, what would happen to our beloved reflection if we turned away from it?