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IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE…?
So, you think you can tell? What is art and what is not?
Does the rosewood-framed Masters degree on your bathroom wall, next to your toilet, lend credence to your critical appreciation?
And who are you anyway? And why does your bloody opinion matter?
Remember the artist, years ago, who immersed a crucifix in a bottle of urine. He called that art. Well… so….did he use that as a marketing tool to project himself? Or was he a man of faith, who believed in his abilities and talent? Was he for real?
And who’s to tell… and how….. and what is real and what is not?
And the Roman Procurator of Judea, Pontius Pilate turned to Jesus of Nazareth and asked, “What Is Truth?” The Nazarene refused to answer. The question is still hanging out there, crucified in eternity. What Is Truth? Do you know?
Pilate of course washed his hands and kicked the question into the cosmic mother computer, and there it remains. Someday, somebody will crack the genetic code on that one.
Religion and politics, these days it leads to political incorrectness, and wars, so let’s play with color.
A tiny transcendental motif in the middle of a small bare canvas. An abstract jigsaw puzzle. Meditate on the center until you reach Nirvana. A respected art critic called it “A sublime manifestation of the complexity of eternity.” Do not ask what that means. Just nod knowingly. Everybody does that. Nobody gets shanked.
Clever words sound nice. And the vintage wine and aged cheese gallery, fanning themselves with their Oxford degrees in Fine Art go… “Ahaaaaaa…..now we get it.”
Can Deepak Chopra, endowed with the supreme marketing wisdom of three wise merchants from the East, recognize the sound of One Hand Clapping, if he seen it sketched on a soiled napkin in a Head Shop in The Village? I don’t think so.
Better ask Bob Dylan. Dial 1800- ASK.THOMAS
Just what is art? Is there anything that is real art?
I don’t know.
And: Who Is John Galt Anyway?
You do not need to understand art.
The tiny transcendental motif on the small bare canvas.
It’s the economy, stupid. The poor artist did not have the money to buy a larger canvas and more paint.
AndwhoamIandwhatamIhereforandwhatismymissionandmypurposeinlife?
And does life imitate art? Or does art imitate life?
The sixties are gone, man. And if you remember it, you were not there anyway! So… You can find a painting titled ‘Flower Power’ hanging in the morgue at Woodstock, painted by a hippie couple called Peace and Love. They died August 1969. Three days after they passed, Max Yasgur buried them on his farm.That was the end of Peace and Love.
An art critic said the painting by the hippie couple looked like Vincent Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, gone insane.
Don’t know what that means! Wonder how much it will sell for in a flea market?
Do you know John Galt?
Does he matter?
Theatre of the Absurd. The artist who killed himself in the gutters of Paris. That was his final canvas, a deadly testimony to his genius. His last finished work. In his left hand, the dead man clutched a large brush. A child noticed that the tip of the brush was sparkling with drops of crimson.
“Yea, We All Need, Someone, We Can Bleed On.” Now who on earth said that?
An art critic in Paris, who worked for INTERPOL on the side, said the dead man had shared an aperitif with John Galt before he mutilated and killed himself. A crowd surrounded the dead man, talking about decomposition, and use of the color red, line and texture, and what it all really meant in the broader scheme of things, the pain of creating…. the latest fashions, what they were going to eat that night, and who was doing what to who and how many times!
A man slapped his wife when she casually stated — that this was NOT ART.
Someone suggested that they hang the bleeding artist in the Louvre.
You know who that someone was, don’t you? You know why, don’t you?
You want to see ART—– Come to Monroe Center
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