This small tirade of Art Theory is brought to you by Keith who posted this crappy poem on my entry "Art:"
Inhale - Tolerance,
Exhale - Judgement,
Inhale - What I am,
Exhale - What I think I am,
I have all I need,
And I can live without.
Don't hold me down.
What?
Okay. Listen, well meaning "artists." Stop being so artsy. Art should tell me a story. It should make me feel a certain way. It should connect with the eternal that is within my heart and mind.
I realize that all art comes from a certain world view and, therefore, cannot escape containing a "lesson," however, stop doing it on purpose. You are what Brannagh's character in "How to Kill Your Neighbors Dog" calls "artsy bastards."
I am not interested in your politics. I am not interested in how well you can string together etherial sounding words in such a way as to convey no specific meaning. "I can live without..." without what? Don't say, "well that's up to the reader," because that's just your excuse. You call it art... I call it lazy.
"Exhale what I think I am." What the hell does that mean? What do you think you are?
Last but not least... art is not therapy. Don't give me this bullcrap of "well I don't write for other people. I write for myself." If that's the case, don't put your work out for public consumption. If you're going to put it out here for us to see, make it speak to us. That means, use complete sentences. that means, appeal to my emotions not to your political views of the world. And for the love of God, put crappy stuff on your own blog. Mine's reserved for well thought out ideas and replies.
Sorry if you think I'm holding you down.
2 comments:
Spelling, spelling
The neatest thing yet
When I spell correctly
Warm fuzzies I get
Ethereal, you see
Is spelled correctly
My work here is done
Hope we had fun!
Now you have three readers. I couldn't agree more. There's nothing more tiresome than an artist with no talent, who nonetheless thinks that simply proclaiming him or herself an artist is enough to command instant respect and awe from the adoring, non-artistic masses. I once suggested to a group of theatre idiots at a cocktail party that perhaps they should all fawn over me for my ability to do differential equations. The look of shock on their faces is one of my most treasured memories.
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