I don't remember what art is. I don't remember what sexy looks like. My mind has been bereft of all passions and inspiration for so many months, it is hard to imagine keeping this tired path beaten down for much longer. Who decides who inherits the luxury of creativity? Do ideas fall from the sky while I shut myself away in boredom? The art that crosses my path daily is just a meager attempt to appear inspired by equally bored graphic designers and copy writers... but who would be inspired to write lengthy prose about marble countertops and nature-inspired color palettes meant specifically to suit the highest common factor?
I tire equally of artistic types and their far-fetched forays into blowing minds... when someone creates something unique but the pleas for praise can be read between every line, veiled by a glossy veneer of self-importance and dismissal. Equally frowned-upon are made-for-hire artists selling piece after piece of watered-down, palatable and affordable crap. Add to that the edgy-types that hit that nice niche market for shock value and calculate their successes by how hard it is to tear the eye away, and photographers that make everything that passes through the lens look like a high-budget fashion shoot, only with a different color or prop then the last high-budget fashion shoot they shot.
Rarely do I see a modest artist with an undeniable skill and talent, combined with the followthrough and patience to not lazily slob together a passable, sellable object (the equivalent of telling someone that they should buy your work because of the name or brand attached, the height of reprehensible vanity in my opinion), in other words... someone who painstakingly crafts. I don't want to purchase art, I don't want to create art for the sake of expressing irritating tripe.
No, I can't say I really appreciate the common artist, or the patrons. The "art community" is overflowing with mediocre, useless bohemians and literati whose primary redeeming quality is the ability to feed the starving egos of the people they revolve around. I am not interested in lining the pocketbooks of do-it-yourself celebrities who celebrate their own keenness by spending a Thursday night downtown mingling with other so-called interesting people. The fleeting fashions and those that religiously follow them, thoughtfully forming opinions of no merit... what would happen if they ceased to be?
I want art to be what it is for one reason... that to be any other way would be without grace. I want everything to be art, and for people to put art into everything they do as if there were no other way to do it at all. The airline pilot that takes pride in a smooth landing, the barista that splashes a stylish heart into the foam on top of a latte, housepainters that don't paint double hung windows shut on apartments that were thoughtfully built with mosaic tile floors and stained glass windows instead of uninsulated walls and brown, shag, cost-effective carpeting. Art, the commodity, is boring and predictable. Artisans, undervalued in this capitalist age.
How depressing.
I tire equally of artistic types and their far-fetched forays into blowing minds... when someone creates something unique but the pleas for praise can be read between every line, veiled by a glossy veneer of self-importance and dismissal. Equally frowned-upon are made-for-hire artists selling piece after piece of watered-down, palatable and affordable crap. Add to that the edgy-types that hit that nice niche market for shock value and calculate their successes by how hard it is to tear the eye away, and photographers that make everything that passes through the lens look like a high-budget fashion shoot, only with a different color or prop then the last high-budget fashion shoot they shot.
Rarely do I see a modest artist with an undeniable skill and talent, combined with the followthrough and patience to not lazily slob together a passable, sellable object (the equivalent of telling someone that they should buy your work because of the name or brand attached, the height of reprehensible vanity in my opinion), in other words... someone who painstakingly crafts. I don't want to purchase art, I don't want to create art for the sake of expressing irritating tripe.
No, I can't say I really appreciate the common artist, or the patrons. The "art community" is overflowing with mediocre, useless bohemians and literati whose primary redeeming quality is the ability to feed the starving egos of the people they revolve around. I am not interested in lining the pocketbooks of do-it-yourself celebrities who celebrate their own keenness by spending a Thursday night downtown mingling with other so-called interesting people. The fleeting fashions and those that religiously follow them, thoughtfully forming opinions of no merit... what would happen if they ceased to be?
I want art to be what it is for one reason... that to be any other way would be without grace. I want everything to be art, and for people to put art into everything they do as if there were no other way to do it at all. The airline pilot that takes pride in a smooth landing, the barista that splashes a stylish heart into the foam on top of a latte, housepainters that don't paint double hung windows shut on apartments that were thoughtfully built with mosaic tile floors and stained glass windows instead of uninsulated walls and brown, shag, cost-effective carpeting. Art, the commodity, is boring and predictable. Artisans, undervalued in this capitalist age.
How depressing.
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