hair.

hair.

marriage proposal.

rad persols hermano.

Sieg Heil Fräulein

So, fucking art, right?

I hate hearing questions such as "what is art?". Furthermore, I hate hearing responses such as "art is in the eye of the beholder", aka the response a jackass gives to feign education in an attempt to pass a statement of that caliber off as an opinion of their own.
I'll can't tell you what art is without coming off as an arrogant bastard, but i can tell you what GOOD art is.

Good art is like a beautiful girl, with a great personality. You see her across the room and something about her captures your attention entirely, this could be the immediate impression of the work of art, something that needs no explanation for it is instantly understood as beautiful/interesting/shocking etc. As you find the nerve to introduce yourself to this goddess you find her personality to be equal to her beauty, this is the concept of the work of art, the technique, the materials used, the explanation behind the initial grabbing effect of the artwork.
So basically, good art is a balance between the shock and awe value that requires no analysis, and the backup work, the artists concept, the message, the skill of its creator. One grabs the attention the other sustains it, enlightens it and adds depth and meaning to the emotion derived from the original viewing.

This is why conceptual art is just about always complete shit. Conceptual artists are the poor art students, the ones that didnt have parents money to send them to art school to learn how to freehand draw and mount a canvas. If a work of art is a human, the head is the concept and the body is the techniques used and skill and materials employed. A conceptual artist will cut off the head and put it in a glass jar because it is all they have. Tossing away 90% of the cadaver of art is always going to produce shit. This is why conceptual artists are such snobs, it is their defense mechanism against the fact that they have no natural artistic talent. They make think pretty thoughts but they do not possess the skills to create such things themselves. So they will condemn classic art and use "modern" techniques to mask the fact that they're no better with a pastel than a 2nd grader fingerpainter.

I think that it is complete bullshit that anyone who is rich can gain artistic prominence. I mean im aware that money will get you anywhere in this world but it still annoys me. I hate it when someone produces something, a piece of clothing they "designed themselvezz" or a photograph and it is fundamentally crap but glitzed up by premium materials or a fantastic camera because they are loaded. Anyone with an iota of creativity but an unlimited budget is always going to appear creative. ALWAYS.

If you have a crap idea for a sculpture, such as a blue bear, but you can afford to make it 50 feet tall then it is going to gain prominence. Not because of the concept of the integration of local fauna in the denver area but because its fucking 50feet of blue goddamn grizzly.

Its just too much of a dick size comparison in the art world. Say you think it would be cool to hang fabric over the walkways in central park. Not a very amazing idea but if you can afford to contruct thousands of arches then someone is going to


fucking notice it. There is hardly anything that hasnt been done already, so if you want to get some kudos and maybe your face on the cover of a magazine make sure you can shout the loudest and you have a big dick.
It might be a better idea to make yourself alot of money before you decide to get artistic.

It's been such a long time since I wrote anything free tongued and at my own volition. Well over a year. I wonder if my life used to be more interesting, or that I was more interested in it to compel me to write about it.

I had more to be happy and unhappy about back then, more to consider and reason with, to frown over, greater cause for trepidation, perhaps more people who I thought might care to read what I wrote.

I do recall getting away with things I no longer can. I once could discuss dramas without worrying about the parties concerned dropping eaves into my myspace. Since those worlds have collided and no longer can I so easily mention my troubles and express my feelings.
However, it must be noted that nobody reads this blog, none of my friends know it exists, so I should be safe as long as this remains the case.

My Boxer, Audrey, is asleep at the foot of my bed. She must have the canine equivalent of sleep apnea for her breathing can be easily heard over the rain outside. She has been my only consistent buddy these holidays. What awful holidays they have been. Who would have thought Michael Jackson could cause a stinging cessation to what was your favourite and strongest friendship? I've been mourning so much since he died I might as well become a fucking posthumous fan.

I can't wait to go back to uni. Finally I'll have something to keep me busy, give me a place to go, force me to leave the house for something more enjoyable than any night out I've had in recent memory.

Something threw a spanner in my works. I need to return to factory specifications and finnegan begin again.

"Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them - if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry."