It’s sorta funny really. I wanted to write a commentary about art for people who’ve already decided they didn’t like it. In large part many of us are just put off by the way art’s usually presented, as a particularly pointless way to express excessive wealth or as a sort of state-sponsored tribalism of superior thought. Since the title of the blog references art, it’s most likely going to be accessed by those among us already indoctrinated from an early age in modern art’s sacred mythologies, and so are unlikely to relate as well. Seems self-defeating. Well friends, I’ve been on a peculiar path. Just out of school I sold books door to door, and began to understand how folks can fool themselves, a practical education. When at the university I was taking mostly philosophy and a general array of humanities. Military experience forged of the two an insurgent alloy, a deeper appreciation of the human condition combined with an abiding aversion for hooey. As example, insisting that innermost thoughts and emotional states can be shared by splashing, smearing, or dripping paint has always sounded similar to me to thinking salvation can be had by total immersion down by the river, well maybe it can. It’s a leap of faith that left me standing on the bank along with most folks.
New and exciting can be fun, but that’s really not art’s territory. ‘Up to the moment’ is what goes on in the adjoining kingdom ruled by art’s fickle half-bright cousin, ‘fashion’, who changes everything around year to year. Among art’s inherent attributes are duration, substance and significance, while fashion’s gowns at the awards ceremony will look even sillier by just next year. Art and fashion may seem similar on the surface but they’re incompatible modes of thought. This distinction could be called my bias, although I don’t feel alone. Articles abound these days questioning the arid lack of meaning in contemporary art -- “well, that’s the point, don’t you see?” is what gets said back, and most serious people occupied with daily existence, the natural audience for serious art, won’t bother.
I couldn’t pretend to turn this thing around from here, pitching pebbles in the pond, and I’m not attempting conversions either. If Andy’s already bitten your neck, soup cans on the wall, it’s too late anyway. I just imagine, somewhat as a leap of faith, similar free-range apostates lurking in the bushes. If by peculiar chance they stumble into my recurring drumbeat that art is essentially intended to express the innermost feelings and aspirations of the owner who chooses it, and that the key to understanding art is to buy some and participate, well, maybe they’ll have a head start on the coming new age in which the artists are the jocks, a further leap of faith. I also wanted to document by date saying stuff I expect to be taken for granted one day, a last laugh destined to last forever somewhere.
No comments:
Post a Comment