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Thursday, October 15, 2009

The Emperor's New Clothes

Yes, it's that time of year again, time for the 2009 Turner prize!


This year we shall be treated to such artistic masterpieces like a chair with a letter under it, a sperm whale's skull, a big pile of dust and some paper mache weebles.
Can't say I'm particularly moved by any of the "works" I've mentioned above, indeed I can't imagine why a chair with a letter lying on the floor under it could be construed as art in the first place.
In fact, I'll go further.
Anything that happens randomly in households up and down the country negates any artistic value that a work of art has in my opinion. I throw my mail on a little table inside my front door, yet the artistic genius that I clearly have has so far escaped anyone and everyone who's been in my house, including myself.

I can just imagine The Demon's face if I told her that the muddy pile of mountain bike clothing currently residing in front of the washing machine wasn't actually for washing, but instead was a poignant comment on 21st century society.

I do believe she'd say "pish".


Jaggy said...

Art, I just don't get it.

I don't see why we call any pumped up karaoke singer who gets up in front of an audience and attempts a couple of bars of "Angels" an artist.

Why any of the 2400 "look at me" attention seekers who stood on the 4th plinth over the past 100 days are called artists is a mystery.

Why any of the scribblers who draw a cartoon likeness of you and your siblings on Blackpool Pleasure Beach for a fiver are called artists is beyond reason.

Draw a good likeness of a horse with a pencil and I'll call you an artist. That's my definition, all others will be ignored.

Steve said...

I currently have a streaming cold and am amassing a pile of sodden tissues. Is it too late to submit?