Monday, February 9, 2009


Suburban Tropical Landscape 1988

The reproduction of style in a oblique and bland way.

The emulation not only in style or content but also in sense and spirit.

Obscure, devious and underhanded facsimiles of froth and bubble, leading not to Optimism but hedonism and despair, then presented in an abstruse way.

The Art thingo like the money markets is full of pundits whose comments are looking more and more like the warbling of greedy creeps.

The many experts and leaders of the world currently seem to be grasping - all their advise is like chaff in the wind. Guess what? They really don't know what they are doing. Maybe the advise from your Grandparents was the best advise you were given in life. Maybe the books from a hundred years ago (or even further back) are the wisest words for our time.

Sadly, as in money, as in art. Optimism - I don't know what this means. I can't relate to this notion in relation to art. I feel like I am being spoken down to or as if someone is trying to speak above my head. To me, I feel like I am being fed a line, just as many shareholders believed they were being fed the good advise on money matters.

It's all rather irksome.

In some sort of mysterious way, I feel that the vitality of art exposure I enjoyed as a young man has been massaged and pummelled by some black force over the last twenty years. Maybe the over exposure of Art or the marketing techniques of the public galleries or even the managers of "culture" fraternity have caused a rip in the space time universe - oozing a bizarre green liquid on to the carpet of the best galleries.

I just don't know, but sometimes, I feel this way after going to a big Art show. But in saying this, I did like a few works in the Brisbane Optimism Art Show. But elaborate size, fancy techniques and spiffy stuff won't cover up for feigned meaning and simple, single ideas masquerading as profundity.

Not only do I want to be engaged by my own work, but also want some sort of engagement with other's work. Optimism just doesn't do it for me, and rarely do I do it for myself - but we are all tarnished by the times we live in.

Oh, to be surprised by joy, as in C.S. Lewis' book, 'Surprised by Joy', but in an art sort of way. The theme: "the longing for a restoration of the joy he experienced as a boy ... not mere pleasure but the sublime experience of the transcendent, the glimpse of the eternal that is only fleetingly available in earthly loves and aesthetics". - Dr. Bruce L. Edwards


  1. er...ditto.
    Feeling rather lacklustre meself

  2. Hey, Ditto - let's go to an art opening at Phillip Bacon's; cause a scene and then get thrown out. We could run down the street later, giggling and retelling the adventure in bursts of exhausted laughter - we wouldn't feel so lack lustre then.

    I always liked Whitely swinging through his art show on that big rope - I wonder if today's galleries could cope with that.

    Phillip Bacon is judging the Caloundra Contemporary Art Prize this year - only a few weeks to get your entries in - now that would be a good opening to upstage.

    P.S. I just don't know how to behave and play the game. I will become unstuck one day or drift into obscurity. Maybe I need a buff up and injection of spontaneity.


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