Today, I happened across an art book that ticked me off. On it, displayed as high art were a bunch of old weathered timbers bolted together at right angles with a few old bolts and metal plates and it was called art. I call it firewood. And then there was that bolder. You're not going to take ten pounds of clay and shape it into a pile of dried dog poop left out in the rain, cast it in bronze ten times it's original size, plunk it on a slab of concrete in some metropolitan park and make me believe it's art. Or better still, take a few condiment squeeze bottles, fill them with paint, squirt them all over a six foot by ten foot canvas and call it art. And then have the balls to place a five million dollar price tag on it.
Who do you gotta sleep with to get that kind of deal?
Give me a good renaissance painter any day. These artisans knew how to make fine art. Their paintings looked exactly like what they were depicting. There was no guesswork there. You didn't have to stand there staring at the canvas for hours trying to figure out what the hell was this guy thinking. Even Warhol's op art looked like something even if it did make your eyes cross at times.
I've painted landscapes and done artwork for comic books and believe me I haven't earned enough to buy the local professional ball club. Then again, I haven't been dead for 300 years yet.
Maybe I'll try inventing a new style. I'll take several different colors of paint and pump them up my ass and then fart all over a canvas. Now all I need is to think of what to call it.
Have a great day.
Who do you gotta sleep with to get that kind of deal?
Give me a good renaissance painter any day. These artisans knew how to make fine art. Their paintings looked exactly like what they were depicting. There was no guesswork there. You didn't have to stand there staring at the canvas for hours trying to figure out what the hell was this guy thinking. Even Warhol's op art looked like something even if it did make your eyes cross at times.
I've painted landscapes and done artwork for comic books and believe me I haven't earned enough to buy the local professional ball club. Then again, I haven't been dead for 300 years yet.
Maybe I'll try inventing a new style. I'll take several different colors of paint and pump them up my ass and then fart all over a canvas. Now all I need is to think of what to call it.
Have a great day.
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