What are the rules for art?

2017/02/14 § Leave a comment

 

When I walk into a gallery, and I look at an artwork, I wonder, how was it made?

This is always my first question.

Sometimes this is too obvious particularly in the case of flat art like oil painting and we drift immediately into curatorial and collectimaniacal discussions, perhaps of style, technique and brushstroke.

Other times the types of process is more technological than the personality in practice, technique and presentation —and I get caught up in lost wax, sprues and welding.

Interesting. I pace hither and thither, lost in thought and admiration. And so more questions, all sorts of questions.

I may venture into what the maker intended, but in any case, the last question I ask is —how was it marketed?

It is the last thing I ask not because of its import but because as soon as it floats into the periphery of notice — I walk away from the art and into the light.

Any other questions that might arise (subject matter, historical significance, the artist’s early death, the skill, the late success, the naive approach) all of them are subsumed by marketing, by the market, by the marketeers, the curators, the auctioneers, the gallerists and #bignames curating their own careers.

And my first question, in context of the marketplace, means nothing at all.

So I walk away.

Marketing stops my curiosity, marketing is a mind killer. It is the magic that must hide its power even as it consumes everything.

I try to walk away.

My first question makes me lonesome, and perhaps proud. The other questions make me a member of the market, an atom of nothing in a sea of commodities, a see of POVs of likes and dislikes, of subjective demographics. And I cannot walk away even when I think I have.

And the last question reminds me the rules for art are the rules of the marketplace. There is no alternative.

I crawl in circles.

their gaze alights before mine looks away and we both watch our corner views til a worry, a stare caught falling on our own concerns no loud mouth would know

2016/01/08 § Leave a comment

or?

 

their gaze alights

 

Locked-in Syndrome of Age & Experience

2016/01/06 § 1 Comment

Effort of my attempt effects no outcome —
tryness of triedness makes nothing —
tired of my tears I rip the connoted stretch marks of my mind.

I had to study Les Murray at matriculation for English HSC (the grading names have all been change to protect the past), via  The Vernacular Republic, only a couple of years after it was published. I didn’t have to fail it, but I am glad I did (probably due to my handwriting speed in essaywriting). #themoth


 

LES MURRAY: I’m a subhuman redneck, of course I am.

MARK COLVIN: Is that because of the bullying?

LES MURRAY: There I suppose probably, yeah. You know that deep down the university, university English departments are never going to take me seriously because they are in the business of training kids to be members of the middle class.

I was sent to university to become part of the middle class, I did not do it, I did something else, I became a poet and I’ve never been forgiven for it.

MARK COLVIN: But that sounds extraordinarily resentful given than that people like the great writer Joseph Brodsky says, “He is quite simply the one by whom the language lives,” and then somebody, John Timpany, in the Philadelphia Inquirer says, “Would somebody please, please give this guy the Nobel prize?”

LES MURRAY: Yeah I don’t believe any of it. I know where people, people know where they fit in society and you can’t move out of it.

You can play games with it, which is what I do but, you can’t overcome it or dismiss it. You are assigned that part of society and the fires of hell will not move you.

On death and poetry: Les Murray speaks to Mark Colvin from his Bunyah home

 

Consciousness forming conscience categories real life out of the voidly self

2016/01/06 § Leave a comment

Moving along, that bubbly blonde with some dead man’s hat on the hair above her head, strays moving in the air like the laugh of the cut man’s son in, with — I know her style but I am not sure of her type — within the kind of fun loving slink and jig in the corner of her wants. Yes, she needs no introduction, you know. There are twenty more upstairs in the store looking for someone special. You don’t know who she is.

Watching & writing in the void at MONA 8th Oct 2015

I’ve decided to deaccession my ideas rather than hoard them, via ebay

2015/04/10 § Leave a comment

I have too many ideas and I need to get rid of them somehow. They are crippling my life. I hope by monetizing them here in an auction they will be of some use to the community and not just lie rotting away in my brain. Or simply rotting my brain for that matter.
SO OUT THEY GO! CHEAP! STARTING AT $0.99!.

 

light-bulb-with-plant1

While reading a biography of Wittgenstein, I come to define pornography

2015/03/26 § Leave a comment

I have been re-reading Ray Monk’s Wittgenstein The Duty of Genius after a fifteen year gap. It was a hard copy, I gave it away to an Ethiopian. I have an electronic copy now. I read it in yellow on a black screen.

wittNZ

Thus it came to pass as I was standing in the dark I while reading on the phone I wonder about the “I know it when I see it.” phrase some US judge said after refraining from defining hard core porn.

So…

I’d define hard core as a more extenuated version of the base definition, to wit, “Porn is defined by its main uniting fantasy, that it is not fantasy.”

I don’t think it needs to be linked to sexuality at all.

This way it can include the formats like car porn or earth porn. Might need to stick ‘visual’ in the definition though.

Also: The “show versus tell” stuff is all about the redundancy of Russell’s “theory of types.”

Thus a definition of porn is also redundant, as I have shown.

See.

My Journey through a Book of the Dead with the Three Jays and Then Some

2014/12/23 § Leave a comment

Matthew-Barney-2

On opening night J¹ said she felt sad. “I don’t want to make art. It all… I don’t feel like making any anymore.”

Industrial Egyptpunk

Numbed ghosts walk by lots of found objects touched by a lesser Midas. A gallery plonked with faux ready-mades from the factory floor. Technically brilliant foundry work. Lovely copper. I get bored with people saying they are underwhelmed.

Beautiful.

I could make all of this. I would make none of this. I am a year older.

The pitch: Mad Max versus Stargate

Norman Mailer as a car, a character in an adaption of his own novel, see… like… you know… c.f. Ka, Egyptian soul-double. Ha-ha. Haw-haw. Crow bars as was:- bull’s blown bits as magical scepters, jawbreakers. But there is no release, no transfiguration. So us psychopomps, like K, flatline  ___________________________

Homework

Please read Norman Mailer’s novel Ancient Evenings and produce a 6 tonne bronze by Thursday morning.

The Nile as an autobahn of progress, a physical series of tubes. Discuss.

Closing the book on his desk J² shakes his head, “If only Barney had joined the 27 club.” After dusk on Wednesday, J² pours petrol over his copy of The Cremaster Cycle, drops his joint and stands back but forgets to video it for youtube.

Satan’s Skin

Milton Moon covers the walls, “the devil gets the best tunes” we jest. It’s a shade, not a colour. Just wait until the flouros flicker.

J³ crumples into a corner groaning. He wants to cower but there are no shadows here. No hidden depths.

Remote control

I like process. I like review. I like books. There are copies of Barney’s tomes. He says this show is a bit remote. He says he is not a theatrical filmmaker, it’s about the objects. J² says there is nothing there. In the book of interviews Barney says he doesn’t do interviews. Or catalogs. Pick two.

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

Pyramids as immortality machines; a form of conspicuous consumption showering society with law and order.

Or poo machines of fertility.

Either way, ancient eternal lives for the rich and powerful, opera for the bored in spirit; over-laboured, groaning, constipated, inappropriating, and signifying nothing.

Get behind me

C said antithetical to Beuys but I can’t spell that in this light.

Beuys-Feldman-Gallery

This is a response to Matthew Barney - River of Fundament - MONA