I read in Newsweek the other day (Dec. 12, Page 54) that the so-called artist Paul McCarthy "sold three copies of White Snow Dwarf (Bashful) at this year's Art Basel Miami Beach for $950,000--each."
http://www.thedailybeast.com/newsweek/2011/12/04/why-is-art-so-damned-expensive.html
My God! How stupid can you get? Why would anyone make this crap? And why would anyone buy it, let alone pay nearly a million dollars for such junk?
I try not to use the word stupid when it comes to other people's creative work.
But this takes the cake. It is off the charts.
These figures are not remotely original, and originality is one of the hallmarks of anything creative. Look at the great artists, musicians and writers: Shakespeare, Leonardo da Vinci, Faulkner, Cormac McCarthy, Mozart, Bach, Goya, Georgia O'Keefe, and on and on.
http://totallyhistory.com/art-history/famous-artists/
Their work is original and meaningful, not derivative and meaningless.
My God. What a bunch of crap. Makes me sick.
-- Roger
Showing posts with label CRAP ART. Show all posts
Showing posts with label CRAP ART. Show all posts
Friday, December 23, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
TAY-TAY AND THE OLD GEEZER
Last night, Taylor Swift won a swift-boat load of awards in music:
http://www.kens5.com/news/American-Music-Awards-2011-Taylor-Swift-wins-artist-of-the-year-134243198.html
I think my granddaughter Bippy likes Tay-Tay, as she calls her.
So I went on YouTube and tried to listen to some of her music:
https://www.google.com/search?q=youtube+taylor+swift&sourceid=ie7&rls=com.microsoft:en-us:IE-SearchBox&ie=&oe=&rlz=
Good God, am I an old geezer or what? I found it so boring! Yargh! I couldn't stand it. I tried two songs and that was enough for me. Nyet. Nein. Non. No. I could wait to hit the pause button.
I find a lot of so-called art sucks these days. Why is that? Is the work crap, or is it me?
I can't stand most pop novels and most so-called literary novels and most mystery novels and most literary short stories and most popular music and most new visual art.
Is it me, or is the culture drowning in crap?
You decide. And let me know what you think.
(Don't disappoint me now. You know the right answer.)
-- Roger
http://www.kens5.com/news/American-Music-Awards-2011-Taylor-Swift-wins-artist-of-the-year-134243198.html
I think my granddaughter Bippy likes Tay-Tay, as she calls her.
So I went on YouTube and tried to listen to some of her music:
https://www.google.com/search?q=youtube+taylor+swift&sourceid=ie7&rls=com.microsoft:en-us:IE-SearchBox&ie=&oe=&rlz=
Good God, am I an old geezer or what? I found it so boring! Yargh! I couldn't stand it. I tried two songs and that was enough for me. Nyet. Nein. Non. No. I could wait to hit the pause button.
I find a lot of so-called art sucks these days. Why is that? Is the work crap, or is it me?
I can't stand most pop novels and most so-called literary novels and most mystery novels and most literary short stories and most popular music and most new visual art.
Is it me, or is the culture drowning in crap?
You decide. And let me know what you think.
(Don't disappoint me now. You know the right answer.)
-- Roger
Copyright © 2011, Roger R. Angle
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
SHOULD ARTISTS STARVE?
My friend John, whom I recently visited in Colorado, has found one solution to the creative dilemma that all artists and writers face: How to devote yourself to your art, make a living, and not make crap.
He taught at a university for 23 years, planning all that time to use his retirement money so he could devote himself to his art. He and his wife Mary are both sculptors. Real artists. Fine artists. They don't make crap. Never have, never will.
One of my worst fears has always been that I would have to write crap to make money. You know, bestsellers. Genre mysteries or thrillers. Most of those are unbearable crap.
In my life, I have held down different kinds of day jobs: journalism, teaching, freelance PR. Over the years, I have had more than 40 jobs, last time I counted.
One of the best was being assistant manager in a country club, where I mopped the dining room floor in the morning, waited tables at lunch, and was a bartender in the evening.
I worked from 7:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. (often midnight), seven days a week. Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep, since we'd go out drinking sometimes after work. In spite of those hours, I didn't make much money. I think it was $1 an hour or maybe $1.25. My boss said, in that sincere BS way business people have, "Don't worry about your pay now. If we make money, you'll make money."
Ha. That day never came.
I had a friend who was an opera singer and worked for an insurance service, where he collected mundane information on people who had applied for policies. It was deadly dull and boring. And the pay was low.
My ex-wife, who was a ceramicist early in life and a very talented writer, once had a job cleaning glass bottles in a dairy. She wore heavy rubber gloves and had to jam heavy, slippery milk bottles down on thick brushes swirling in hot water. Sometimes the bottles would break. It was hot, steamy and horrible.
Not very creative, to say the least.
I had a talented writing student years ago who started a furniture factory. His goal was to get the business going well enough so that he could take time to write. I don't know if he ever succeeded.
Most creative people have a hell of time making a living and also making art. The opera singer was an advertising copy writer the last time I saw him. He was also a vocal coach on the side, finally making a decent living. But I don't think he was singing in the opera any more.
His ex-wife, a talented and dedicated painter, worked for an art gallery, where she kept track of the paintings, sculptures and other art work around the world, like a book keeper or librarian. A deadening job.
For me, nothing has ever really been satisfactory. All I ever wanted to do was write, creatively, honestly. And nothing else. Simple, huh? Easier said than done.
I have always loved teaching, but there is a lot of BS in education. Most school systems are not set up to help the kids learn or to help the teachers teach. They are set up for other reasons, to satisfy all kinds of legal demands that may not make sense. And to help the administrators make money. The first goal of any bureaucracy is to preserve and expand itself, like a fat man stealing your food when you aren't looking.
I always wanted to be a real writer, to create literature. No cliches. No BS. So I kept leaving whatever jobs I had, so I would have time to write.
I saved up enough money one time to take almost ten years off work to write novels. I thought I could have it both ways, write something that would appeal to a lot of people, make some money, and satisfy my literary desires.
I came close once. But near misses don't count, except, as we used to say in New York, in horse shoes, shit fights, and hand grenades.
Anyway, my friend John figured it out pretty well. He planned ahead. He spent 23 years teaching, while supporting and helping raise a family, and for the last 15 years he has been making art.
So far, so good. Good for him.
I wish I had planned it out so well.
I hope he and his wife keep at it forever.
-- Roger
He taught at a university for 23 years, planning all that time to use his retirement money so he could devote himself to his art. He and his wife Mary are both sculptors. Real artists. Fine artists. They don't make crap. Never have, never will.
One of my worst fears has always been that I would have to write crap to make money. You know, bestsellers. Genre mysteries or thrillers. Most of those are unbearable crap.
In my life, I have held down different kinds of day jobs: journalism, teaching, freelance PR. Over the years, I have had more than 40 jobs, last time I counted.
One of the best was being assistant manager in a country club, where I mopped the dining room floor in the morning, waited tables at lunch, and was a bartender in the evening.
I worked from 7:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. (often midnight), seven days a week. Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep, since we'd go out drinking sometimes after work. In spite of those hours, I didn't make much money. I think it was $1 an hour or maybe $1.25. My boss said, in that sincere BS way business people have, "Don't worry about your pay now. If we make money, you'll make money."
Ha. That day never came.
I had a friend who was an opera singer and worked for an insurance service, where he collected mundane information on people who had applied for policies. It was deadly dull and boring. And the pay was low.
My ex-wife, who was a ceramicist early in life and a very talented writer, once had a job cleaning glass bottles in a dairy. She wore heavy rubber gloves and had to jam heavy, slippery milk bottles down on thick brushes swirling in hot water. Sometimes the bottles would break. It was hot, steamy and horrible.
Not very creative, to say the least.
I had a talented writing student years ago who started a furniture factory. His goal was to get the business going well enough so that he could take time to write. I don't know if he ever succeeded.
Most creative people have a hell of time making a living and also making art. The opera singer was an advertising copy writer the last time I saw him. He was also a vocal coach on the side, finally making a decent living. But I don't think he was singing in the opera any more.
His ex-wife, a talented and dedicated painter, worked for an art gallery, where she kept track of the paintings, sculptures and other art work around the world, like a book keeper or librarian. A deadening job.
For me, nothing has ever really been satisfactory. All I ever wanted to do was write, creatively, honestly. And nothing else. Simple, huh? Easier said than done.
I have always loved teaching, but there is a lot of BS in education. Most school systems are not set up to help the kids learn or to help the teachers teach. They are set up for other reasons, to satisfy all kinds of legal demands that may not make sense. And to help the administrators make money. The first goal of any bureaucracy is to preserve and expand itself, like a fat man stealing your food when you aren't looking.
I always wanted to be a real writer, to create literature. No cliches. No BS. So I kept leaving whatever jobs I had, so I would have time to write.
I saved up enough money one time to take almost ten years off work to write novels. I thought I could have it both ways, write something that would appeal to a lot of people, make some money, and satisfy my literary desires.
I came close once. But near misses don't count, except, as we used to say in New York, in horse shoes, shit fights, and hand grenades.
Anyway, my friend John figured it out pretty well. He planned ahead. He spent 23 years teaching, while supporting and helping raise a family, and for the last 15 years he has been making art.
So far, so good. Good for him.
I wish I had planned it out so well.
I hope he and his wife keep at it forever.
-- Roger
Friday, February 4, 2011
YES, BUT IS IT ART?
I am sad to report that the art world -- you know, people who make and show and buy fine art, mostly painting and sculpture -- today has been infiltrated or even dominated by work that is lame, juvenile and pointless.
Much of it shows no little or no talent and no respect for traditions, materials or the audience.
The other night (Thursday, Feb. 3, 2011), I went to the Hammer Museum in Los Angeles, just south of UCLA, to see a presentation by "one of the most highly regarded painters working today," Laura Owens. She showed a series of photos of her work, installed in galleries in New York, Chicago, and I think Europe.
I was appalled. I tried to like them, and I tried to think they were examples of fine art, but, alas, I could not.
Ms. Owens may be a very nice person and she may mean well, but many of her paintings looked like crude illustrations for children's books. The decorative elements were often dull squiggles and pointless shapes, bland areas of thick paint with little or no craftsmanship, and large areas of blank canvas.
One painting was designed to fit into a corner of a gallery and fool the viewer into thinking it was part of the wall, with little hints of art work at the top and bottom. Oh goody, a painting that is deliberately pointless.
The works showed only a crude sense of design, no sense of composition, and no content.
I wasn't sure I had seen enough, so later I went online and looked at dozens of other works. None of them were any better. All were disappointing.
What I want, when I go to a gallery or museum to see contemporary art, is a sense of excitement, the shock of the new, a sense of insight, of possibility, of visual renewal, the power of an intelligent sensibility brought to bear on people and places and things.
I want to be impressed. I want to think, Wow, I've never seen anything like this before. I want to see the world in a new way. I want to think, Gee, I never thought of that. I want to come out of an exhibit more aware and enlightened and sensitized than I was when I went in.
Good luck, on this night.
So, when I had enough of this slide show, I got up and went downstairs in the museum.
There was a gallery on the first floor, about 30 x 30 ft., with only two objects in it. In the center stood a large fan next to a snare drum. The fan was blowing air across the drum.
Sound boring and pointless? It was.
But wait.
From the ceiling, directly over the drum, every few seconds a drop of water would fall. But the drop of water would miss the drum. The fan would blow it away. The floor next to the drum was wet. So the drops of water were falling toward the drum but splashing onto the floor instead.
Enlightening? Exciting? A work of art? You tell me.
Art is about vision and sensibility and intelligence. This "piece" had nothing like that. What a waste of time. What an insult to the viewer.
Significant parts of the art world seem to be in about as bad a shape as the publishing world. I don't know which is worse.
Art supposedly foreshadows the future of a civilization.
What do you think our future looks like?
Crude illustrations passed off as fine art?
Fans blowing drops of water? Drums that don't sound?
Oh, baby. I hope this doesn't mean what I think it means.
Much of it shows no little or no talent and no respect for traditions, materials or the audience.
The other night (Thursday, Feb. 3, 2011), I went to the Hammer Museum in Los Angeles, just south of UCLA, to see a presentation by "one of the most highly regarded painters working today," Laura Owens. She showed a series of photos of her work, installed in galleries in New York, Chicago, and I think Europe.
I was appalled. I tried to like them, and I tried to think they were examples of fine art, but, alas, I could not.
Ms. Owens may be a very nice person and she may mean well, but many of her paintings looked like crude illustrations for children's books. The decorative elements were often dull squiggles and pointless shapes, bland areas of thick paint with little or no craftsmanship, and large areas of blank canvas.
One painting was designed to fit into a corner of a gallery and fool the viewer into thinking it was part of the wall, with little hints of art work at the top and bottom. Oh goody, a painting that is deliberately pointless.
The works showed only a crude sense of design, no sense of composition, and no content.
I wasn't sure I had seen enough, so later I went online and looked at dozens of other works. None of them were any better. All were disappointing.
What I want, when I go to a gallery or museum to see contemporary art, is a sense of excitement, the shock of the new, a sense of insight, of possibility, of visual renewal, the power of an intelligent sensibility brought to bear on people and places and things.
I want to be impressed. I want to think, Wow, I've never seen anything like this before. I want to see the world in a new way. I want to think, Gee, I never thought of that. I want to come out of an exhibit more aware and enlightened and sensitized than I was when I went in.
Good luck, on this night.
So, when I had enough of this slide show, I got up and went downstairs in the museum.
There was a gallery on the first floor, about 30 x 30 ft., with only two objects in it. In the center stood a large fan next to a snare drum. The fan was blowing air across the drum.
Sound boring and pointless? It was.
But wait.
From the ceiling, directly over the drum, every few seconds a drop of water would fall. But the drop of water would miss the drum. The fan would blow it away. The floor next to the drum was wet. So the drops of water were falling toward the drum but splashing onto the floor instead.
Enlightening? Exciting? A work of art? You tell me.
Art is about vision and sensibility and intelligence. This "piece" had nothing like that. What a waste of time. What an insult to the viewer.
Significant parts of the art world seem to be in about as bad a shape as the publishing world. I don't know which is worse.
Art supposedly foreshadows the future of a civilization.
What do you think our future looks like?
Crude illustrations passed off as fine art?
Fans blowing drops of water? Drums that don't sound?
Oh, baby. I hope this doesn't mean what I think it means.
Copyright 2011, Roger R. Angle.
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