At the movies, back in the black and white fifties, one summer night a meteor falls in a field just outside of town, and all the children born that year have vacant stares and nothing in common with their parents. In the sixties it sorta happened. As culture evolves, next generations see the world, not opposite exactly, but definitely in opposition, and it’s happening again. The outcome is uncertain. A high-tech return to middle ages feudalism and the superior status of the ultra-wealthy seems plausible, they obviously want it, but democracy, that gritty underdog, each individual within reach of their full human potential, might win out someday.
No one person could change things, but it might be time to pick a side. Don’t need a weatherperson to know which way the wind blows, and culture gurus are even less reliable. Better it would be just to lick your own finger and hold it up to the sky. It will feel colder on the windward side, and you get to make your own determination. Shouldn’t be hard these days as the wind begins to howl, the earth moves under foot, and it seems change is happening on its own already. Authority discredits itself before our eyes, politics and business are besmirched, and the harbinger of it all, art, teeters on a cliff. Will the art object, perhaps obscure in itself but with long resume a flapping, continue to represent the social aspiration of new money, mute as coffee stain, aloof and unfriendly, or will art assume a whole new assignment in the world of tomorrow, almost here?
At this point could explain why exposure to original art tunes up the receptor cells and resensitizes the perceptual net, and further how it modifies and supports its owner’s self-image, an all day effect, but words can be deceitful and enough has been said on all fronts already. Can only offer a prescription, to be filled whenever any artist offers their work in public. Look at everything. Most art you’ll see is bad, but you won’t know that, not until you’ve begun to notice what’s better, which won’t take long. Above all, don’t listen to academic experts, a crusty old clergy reciting an arcane genealogy of past market icons, the rebels and rascals, still touting their descendants and derivatives, finally bankrupt, galleries empty, public finance shriveling, so sad.
As artificial pinnacles of art sophistication and high finance begin to collapse, all that penned-up interest and art awareness will spread out, finding a more natural level in the daily lives of ordinary citizens. The moist finger knows the wind will be howling shortly, and a new point of view, more nuanced regarding personal identity and less inclined to accept bs from above, blows in, as a new generation learns to express themselves through the art they buy and live with.
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