Today's Guardian article about a new exhibition touches on old prejudices and insecurities about what constitutes art. (BTW, I seem to be turning into a bit of a fan)!)
We're hoodwinked - "Oh! it's the Virgin Mary! And Ronald MacDonald! They're having it off! And they're made out of shit! That's really got me thinking! I'm also very shocked!" - by art that is only art because someone with whom we don't know how to argue says it is and because the artist went to the right school and "networked" with the right people. After a while, any activity undertaken by the successful "artist" is designated "art", and we all disappear up our own arses in a flurry of unmade beds. I think Picasso may have started this "everything I do is art" thing but he had talent: good luck to 'em, but don't expect me to clap like a seal.
The Being Present exhibition looks interesting. See you there, with the rest of us Philistines.
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