As days go by,when I’m making art,instead of sculpting a naked man,I sculpted a statue of cynicism.Cynicism whereby I completely hold my hand out like a desperate Christian saying “PREAAACHH” when Oscar Wilde said “The artistic life is a long and lovely suicide”
Art is useless,art is nothing,the only useful thing I can think about about making art is making pots from pottery classes.Maybe this pot can be an ashtray….or something I put in my house next to that other artsy African vase looking thing.But do you need that African vase looking thing?OK maybe,ashtrays are important.God,art is not a necessity.I feel like I’m just doing art for my own pleasure,it holds no significance,it holds no meaning.What change can I make if I review a piece of art in the Lourve? Wait,I’m probably even breaking my own principles.When I was holier than thou saying bullshit like “your mind should roam free when you look at a canvas,your mind should paint its own meaning,you mind should…go suck a fuck because all these things do not matter.I wanted to be an art journalist/art critic/art reviewer/fuck sucker whatever.I was so confident of it,there’s nothing I want to do more than art journalism.Then one day,it hit me that I’d be nothing but a pretentious hypocrite who drinks black coffee,smoke marls and wear turtlenecks reviewing all these art when I used to think we should interpret art ourselves.There I went,as a fucking know it all teenager who tried to be exalting and staging pathetic attempt of being an anarchist in my own bubble art world saying “who the fuck you think you are? putting meanings in my head and telling me which paint stroke signifies what.If red means the fiery passion of the artist’s sex life,so be it.Red means fucking STD to me.”Who listens to what art critics say?Who the fuck listens to what art reviewers say?What the fuck are artists?Are you an artist when you make art?Is that kid who drew a picture of an autistic looking dog a motherfucking artist?What makes an artist?What makes art?I don’t even know anymore.I’m just ranting here like a deranged clusterfuck.
There goes Oscar Wilde saying “The artistic lifeis a long and lovely suicide.” when he’s produced like what a fucktaple amount of plays?Are you a masochist Oscar? Well,fuck you Oscar,fuck you.Because I was this wide eyed hopeful teenager who used to see flowers in cemeteries,now all I do is make out skull shapes of a blooming carnation.