In the Dallas art museum I saw a flourescent tube stuck in a bale of hay and a pile of clothes in front of a statue of Mary like you could buy at any religious goods store. Oh and an entire room with scraps of black cloth strewn about it. No idea what any of that was supposed to "mean". They had a lot of actual art too. Thanks for the article. Good stuff as always.
A half burnt teddy bear - title: loss of innocence. Hmm give me a few more shots of whisky and I’ll belt out a few more. What is art without the discipline of technique? I think you can call anything art if you like. Frame it (metaphorically or physically) and you have art. It’s just not very good art is it?
Hi Mr Gage! I've been proclaiming the nakedness of the emperors since at least 1966 when, in the cozy confines of an audiophile shop in Worcester (MA), I was first exposed to the cloacal (if "pseuds" is a word, then so is that) depths to which "music" had sunk. I coined the mantra that any music less than 100 years old was highly suspect at best. Times change; 100 years isn't enough any more. Welcome to the club -- but be advised that no one listens to me, either.
Fantastic piece, Topher!
Would I be alone in noting some parallels in music? The WAP video by Megan Thee Stallion and CardiB comes to mind...
In the Dallas art museum I saw a flourescent tube stuck in a bale of hay and a pile of clothes in front of a statue of Mary like you could buy at any religious goods store. Oh and an entire room with scraps of black cloth strewn about it. No idea what any of that was supposed to "mean". They had a lot of actual art too. Thanks for the article. Good stuff as always.
A half burnt teddy bear - title: loss of innocence. Hmm give me a few more shots of whisky and I’ll belt out a few more. What is art without the discipline of technique? I think you can call anything art if you like. Frame it (metaphorically or physically) and you have art. It’s just not very good art is it?
Hi Mr Gage! I've been proclaiming the nakedness of the emperors since at least 1966 when, in the cozy confines of an audiophile shop in Worcester (MA), I was first exposed to the cloacal (if "pseuds" is a word, then so is that) depths to which "music" had sunk. I coined the mantra that any music less than 100 years old was highly suspect at best. Times change; 100 years isn't enough any more. Welcome to the club -- but be advised that no one listens to me, either.
( ). Applause!
👏👏👏👏