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There's a thing that I notice at art museums sometimes. Someone wearing a slightly annoyed expression will be speeding through the exhibit like they are going down a long to do list. Or I'll be playing a board game with a group and there will be some guy with a strained face looking like they'd rather be anywhere else. Maybe another time we're leaving a movie and they start to complain about how it 'wasn't realistic', you get the picture.
I swear to God it makes me want to pulpify their face.
I'm not saying that you need to like every piece of art or that you should feel bad for not liking a movie, but, goddamn, at least give it a fucking second. Closing yourself off to The New, being automatically opposed to earnestness when it appears, is one of the most damaging defense mechanisms I can think of. It is, in turn, also one of the best ways to maximize your misery.
The defense mechanism that is cynicism, turns its users into parasites of the Social; they are sold the idea (a lie) that damaging and denigrating <<something>> allows one to become independent of its power structure. On the contrary, just as a leech is the most dependent on its host, cynics are those that are most dependent on the power structures in our culture.
I really want to emphasize the difference between criticism and cynicism, because I am in no way saying that we should not criticize bad or damaging art, but to successfully criticize something means to first buy in, to really allow yourself to be taken by a piece, to examine it as it comes. Buying in as a term (even one so bathed in capitalist sebum) is the right one in this case because to buy in requires one to make a sacrifice. You cannot experience art without opening yourself to the possibility that it will do damage to you. To fully allow yourself to be moved by a piece of art is to allow yourself to be cut.
But inside that cut is what it means to be human.
I think the single best way to combat cynicism is an unceasing curiosity of the world and the people in it. The normal and common of this world is absolutely fantasmatic if you take a moment to examine it; we see the world through have fluid filled orbs made of meat for fucks sake. The fact that there is anything at all, the fact that you and I exist for even a second is an absolutely unbelievable mind fuck, and to be unimpressed by any and everything doesn’t make you special or better than anyone, it just leaves you on a road to the pit of despair and leaves me really bummed out for the rest of the night.
Sep 20, 2024
Related Recs
I understand the stop-at-whatever-catches-your-eye style of visiting museums and galleries but it makes me sad to see people rush through. The real joy of art is the breakthrough that occurs after engaging with a made thing.
Some helpful questions to ask:
-What is the title of the piece and how does it relate it what I see?
-Why did I stop/hurry past?
-Why is it here? Does it belong to the space or to a theme?
-What does it allow me to do/see/think/play with?
May 19, 2024
🖌
So vulnerable, I have to be sincere. European and American art galleries historically are not only promoters of great art, they are creators of markets. That may be where you could shift focus.
Your worth is that you are young, eating rat, living a life of passion, filth, messiness, body horror (per my comment on such) unique and unknown to those with money. They crave you, not for your art. That's worthless to them. The art, as photographs per Sontag in my other rec, is simply a receipt that they owned a piece of your lifestyle for a moment. No one who will buy your art will likely give a fuck about your art. Stop seeking those. Find the Glengarry Glen Ross customers seeking life, escape from drudgery, a need to prove something to themselves. Let your art be that for them.
Enough bs theory, now for implementation. You won't sell your art, but you can sell the frustration, bloodsweattears, dedication, sacrifice that drips from your post. You can do so by simultaneously reminding yourself you are not creating ART but CREATING art. Your work and worth is not on a canvas. It's not the art. It's in you, the artist.
May 11, 2024
100TH REC HOMIES
Here it goesss...
Recently watched a documentary about one of my favourite artists, Coulter Jacobs, and there's a shot in the film that briefly lingers on a quote he had painted onto a block of wood:
Learn what is to be taken seriously and laugh at the rest*
My take on it:
The quote isn't anything revolutionary, but within the context of the doc, which focuses on Jacobs' artistic pursuits/struggles and influence within the LA tattoo artist + abstract art community, it perfectly sums up the importance of being forgiving & allowing yourself room to breathe when you're working on your craft.
As someone who has a tendency to overthink & give my all with even the smallest of tasks, finding that delineation between seriousness and levity can get very blurry at times, but perhaps that's exactly why that short sentence stood out to me and it may be of use to you too.
Whether you consider yourself an artist or not, it's just as good a reminder to not take everything in this life with too much severity. It's a heavy existence already, no need to make it harder on yourself by treating everything like it will utterly make or break your life and/or career.
*The quote originally comes from Hermann Hesse, a German-Swiss novelist, poet, painter & Nobel laureate whose works focused a lot on the pursuit of personal authenticity and self-understanding.
Apr 11, 2024
Top Recs from @green_thumb_in_my_bum
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The audio in this movie is so thoughtful, the only music we hear is from music that is actually happening in the story. The women singing, the piano, the symphony all were some of the most powerful pieces of music I have seen in a film.
Each shot belongs in this film too; every once in a while there are pieces of art that exceed my wildest imaginations of how good something can be, this is one of them.
trust me — they say like 5 words the whole time but the cinematography is breathtaking and I ugly cry every time
Sep 19, 2024
Sep 19, 2024
✍️
When I return to the places I lived
There is a sink that tends to be soul felt
Its just a wall, a room, paper, some wood
I want to tear down paint, paper, to studs
Even the studs, could be shredded - exposed
There is nothing below but more sameness
My bones are just, eyes and heart are, objects
During disect-tations, we did the same
We ripped until organs were mixed pieces
We cut brazen looking for what? something
An eye, beaut’ful, wet soft, there is ne’re more
Looking for the subject in the object
Looking for the pain, love, a house no home
To be studs, paint, paper, instead of I am
A thing, ‘stead of The Thing rips me apart
I am I am I am I am I am
Please don't pull me from this body of mine
It fails and falls, but it is all, all all.
Sep 27, 2024
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In truth people really don't give a shit as long as you are chill.
Sep 19, 2024