Passing a building site on the way to work the other morning, a builder shouted at the top of his voice, “ I chose not to choose life, I chose construction!” Expecting a wolf whistle, I was slightly taken aback.
Odd to subvert the Trainspotting catchphrase for such purposes I thought. But it worked well. It got me thinking, as my mind often does, on art matters. Artists in particular.
How many artists live for their art these days? Actually suffer to produce serious art. Who is the tortured artist of today? The Jackson Pollock, alcoholic killed in car crash style artist who rocks the art world and then ends it all in a big bang?
Who? Bansky? No – for a start he is anonymous, plus he has sold out. A street artist with a dealer? Surely that just cancels out all of his original creditability?
Ok then we have Hirst - with a wife that goes on housing programs about her lovely ‘beach-themed’ houseboat on The Thames. Rock and roll baby!
Reportedly putting up his own bid for his diamond skull to get people interested?
A pure example of how the art world is over saturated with businessmen right now.
Gilbert and George. Brilliant. But a Major retrospective in the Tate means they have entered the canons of art history now. like all artists this acceptability means no with the times, ‘the zeitgeist’ has flown out of the building. Boring in other words, or what ever you want to call it.
Tracey Emin? Sarah Lucus? Do something crazy please!
Where have all the art nutters gone!?
Don’t worry the Art Slooth is on the prowl.
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