Rousseau of french revolution fame, asserted that truth was whatever the majority believed, he was very egalitarian, and in a commercial culture such as ours, his common denominator formula goes double, big dollars back him up.
Musical artists are the beasts of burden for the entertainment industry, creating authentic and heartfelt music that’s fed into the machine, ‘please listen to my demo.’ There rough edges and heartfelt emotion are peeled away, some big name act is found to turn it into platinum, and it’s in your head forever. Something wrong here, I can feel it. The public is being robbed, somehow duller and less attentive year by year, while the artists at the front end are just getting screwed, no kissing. People in the middle are getting rich, stupidly rich. Do they play an instrument, do they sing and dance, do they influence the entire culture, preset the mentality of the majority, and limit what can possibly be attained here? Some of that stuff, yes. They have their foot on the garden hose of free and direct expression, and they’re living off the backup.
Being commercial is, after all, the way we all got here, but capitalism loves bottlenecks, and a drought or a blight is always good for someone. Sly operators go right out and create them, or at least their illusion, and are much respected in the business world, the ‘any industry will do’ mass manipulators. When they insinuate themselves into perfectly legitimate commercial exchange, they limit supply and monopolize distribution through branding and big-budget advertising, value-adding themselves and their expensive tastes to the price the customer pays. Given an item of exchange that’s essentially an intangible, say like art, these talented manipulators of fellow souls have the opportunity to fly. With nothing really going for them but a conjured perception of rarity, and the nodding, smiling affirmation that everyone else wants it too, they navigate in rarified air. In a world where making money is the game, these suave hustlers occupy the top rung.
Fake auctions and outrageous bidding are just the front for a whole industry of pretence and bluff, all based on the false narrative of modern art with its exclusive stable of super-stars. I wouldn’t disparage the work of any artist who accomplishes anything in their own studio, whether anyone else likes it or not, but leaping for a passing bandwagon isn’t really a free ride, doesn’t go anywhere. Philosophically old Jackson Pollock might have a few points, mostly goofy, but looking at his art makes me want to drink, heavily, and I don’t drink. I long ago let go of the notion that believing in his transcendent insight was the price I had to pay to participate, and to any who ask, feels like a new suit of clothes.
By ignoring what isn’t there, it becomes possible to see what is, and this makes looking at art so much easier. An infinite spectrum of art presents itself, as broad and as deep as you need to go, and some of it is available right around where you live. Give up your preconceived, preprogramed boundaries and just look at all of it until, one day, you feel a resonance, it’s only semi-conscious and indirect, like a little magnetic pulse you can’t explain. Hope it’s not too expensive.
Musical artists are the beasts of burden for the entertainment industry, creating authentic and heartfelt music that’s fed into the machine, ‘please listen to my demo.’ There rough edges and heartfelt emotion are peeled away, some big name act is found to turn it into platinum, and it’s in your head forever. Something wrong here, I can feel it. The public is being robbed, somehow duller and less attentive year by year, while the artists at the front end are just getting screwed, no kissing. People in the middle are getting rich, stupidly rich. Do they play an instrument, do they sing and dance, do they influence the entire culture, preset the mentality of the majority, and limit what can possibly be attained here? Some of that stuff, yes. They have their foot on the garden hose of free and direct expression, and they’re living off the backup.
Being commercial is, after all, the way we all got here, but capitalism loves bottlenecks, and a drought or a blight is always good for someone. Sly operators go right out and create them, or at least their illusion, and are much respected in the business world, the ‘any industry will do’ mass manipulators. When they insinuate themselves into perfectly legitimate commercial exchange, they limit supply and monopolize distribution through branding and big-budget advertising, value-adding themselves and their expensive tastes to the price the customer pays. Given an item of exchange that’s essentially an intangible, say like art, these talented manipulators of fellow souls have the opportunity to fly. With nothing really going for them but a conjured perception of rarity, and the nodding, smiling affirmation that everyone else wants it too, they navigate in rarified air. In a world where making money is the game, these suave hustlers occupy the top rung.
Fake auctions and outrageous bidding are just the front for a whole industry of pretence and bluff, all based on the false narrative of modern art with its exclusive stable of super-stars. I wouldn’t disparage the work of any artist who accomplishes anything in their own studio, whether anyone else likes it or not, but leaping for a passing bandwagon isn’t really a free ride, doesn’t go anywhere. Philosophically old Jackson Pollock might have a few points, mostly goofy, but looking at his art makes me want to drink, heavily, and I don’t drink. I long ago let go of the notion that believing in his transcendent insight was the price I had to pay to participate, and to any who ask, feels like a new suit of clothes.
By ignoring what isn’t there, it becomes possible to see what is, and this makes looking at art so much easier. An infinite spectrum of art presents itself, as broad and as deep as you need to go, and some of it is available right around where you live. Give up your preconceived, preprogramed boundaries and just look at all of it until, one day, you feel a resonance, it’s only semi-conscious and indirect, like a little magnetic pulse you can’t explain. Hope it’s not too expensive.
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