This wasn’t an election of a president. Trump is there by default, could have been some other populist outsider. This friends, by plenty enough to make the difference, was a red-neck repudiation of the arrogance and condescension of progressive culture mavens and academic think tank types, and as we all reevaluate, I realize I’m right there, too. Didn’t vote for Trump but something in the glee of his victory struck a chord in me as well. They didn’t care about his programs, they just wanted to see the other side soiled for a change, and the cry-baby post-election demonstrations make them feel good all over. Too bad there’s tomorrow.
Where from all this rage pundits shrug on the news, life too soft at the top to question much, and they all come to work in limos. Of rage I’ve had my share, but we use it in my trade, a reason to make that first cup of coffee -- can’t complain. They make it easy. This week on the news David Bowie’s art collection, up for grabs, was headlined by a ‘Basquiat,’ in at eight point eight million. Having to live with it would be sweet revenge for all poor people everywhere, but it’s probably destined for storage. Still, this particular artist makes the point better than anyone else in the universe so far. Jean-Michel Basquiat’s resume lists him as a graffiti artist before he met Warhol, his rocket to fame, but he wasn’t. He was just a vandal with a spray can in his hip pocket who went around defacing property, and he wasn’t much more than a vandal as a painter. That’s why we love him so much, so raw, so aching, so burned out, drugged out bored -- same old shit, his slogan. No, really.
That’s what they see out in trump-land, a carnival-grade celebrity cult siphoning off millions just to soak up the loot, to sop up the gravy, no wonder they turn their backs on art. The citizens who actually support much of this artistic endeavor work for a living, and by ‘work’ they mean engaging daily in something they don’t like doing, an unrelenting life-long effort with only incremental rewards. It isn’t that they’re offended by artists never wearing ties or fighting the morning traffic, just hanging around in studios smearing paint on canvas and getting rich like they say on the news, but the small town fact is they simply can’t relate. Some object that perfectly projects a crystalline disavowal of effort and discipline may not move them, but that doesn’t mean they don’t like art.
Their vote has been suppressed, they’ve been disenfranchised, demeaned, discounted. Trump was a mistake, but the pressure has been there for something more engaging and honestly felt, closer to direct experience and daily lives. Art’s new demographic will find in art a more measured and intelligent outlet than a pent-up paroxysm of despair and resentment one time in the voting booth. Balance is a natural state, and aren’t we all together?
Where from all this rage pundits shrug on the news, life too soft at the top to question much, and they all come to work in limos. Of rage I’ve had my share, but we use it in my trade, a reason to make that first cup of coffee -- can’t complain. They make it easy. This week on the news David Bowie’s art collection, up for grabs, was headlined by a ‘Basquiat,’ in at eight point eight million. Having to live with it would be sweet revenge for all poor people everywhere, but it’s probably destined for storage. Still, this particular artist makes the point better than anyone else in the universe so far. Jean-Michel Basquiat’s resume lists him as a graffiti artist before he met Warhol, his rocket to fame, but he wasn’t. He was just a vandal with a spray can in his hip pocket who went around defacing property, and he wasn’t much more than a vandal as a painter. That’s why we love him so much, so raw, so aching, so burned out, drugged out bored -- same old shit, his slogan. No, really.
That’s what they see out in trump-land, a carnival-grade celebrity cult siphoning off millions just to soak up the loot, to sop up the gravy, no wonder they turn their backs on art. The citizens who actually support much of this artistic endeavor work for a living, and by ‘work’ they mean engaging daily in something they don’t like doing, an unrelenting life-long effort with only incremental rewards. It isn’t that they’re offended by artists never wearing ties or fighting the morning traffic, just hanging around in studios smearing paint on canvas and getting rich like they say on the news, but the small town fact is they simply can’t relate. Some object that perfectly projects a crystalline disavowal of effort and discipline may not move them, but that doesn’t mean they don’t like art.
Their vote has been suppressed, they’ve been disenfranchised, demeaned, discounted. Trump was a mistake, but the pressure has been there for something more engaging and honestly felt, closer to direct experience and daily lives. Art’s new demographic will find in art a more measured and intelligent outlet than a pent-up paroxysm of despair and resentment one time in the voting booth. Balance is a natural state, and aren’t we all together?
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