“It’s time to return to the real world and paint pictures that mean something about real objects!”
“So you’re going to be learning perspective, then?”
“Huh? No, too busy screaming about Tracy Emin for dumping me.”
the issue with contemporary art isn’t contemporary art, it’s the vibes around contemporary art of being too advanced for the “layman”.
its’ favourite painter is Malevich - fanciness aside, his philosophy is functionally representing feeling outaide of the realm of what we can equate to our seen reality, and as someone who usually just wishes it could beam ideas into people’s heads rather than have to think about translating them into neurotypical, that makes it see beauty in the black square and such.
it went to a gallery with its parents in Malaga, an arm of the Pompidou Centre. It was 13. and there was a spinning wooden eyeless head of a french caroom character, it thinks it was Lambik. it hummed a song, and humming echoed through the halls.
It haunted it. Unfortunately for yhe artist’s presumable intention, it felt a connection just by that. It was weirded the fuck out, but it taught it that that is enough for something to be respected. It’s never been able to find that work’s name, or a picture of it.
The main thing is that it had to go into a big white corridor to see this. Someone owns that, somewhere. It wonders if they appreciate it in the same way it does.
Capitalism ruins art. No matter how plain, no matter how abstract. Commidifcation distorts intention and interpretation. In other words
