Askia asked me in a comment on my Tracy Emin, Tory post:
“On what basis do you make the assertion that if these 80s New York artists were transported back in time they would exist on a rung below the village idiot?”
It’s hard to know what to make of the question. I think it’s glaringly obvious to anybody bothering to look with their own two eyes rather than buying into the delusional claptrap written about clearly artistically infantile work and the amount of dollars stacked mile high next to it.
Here’s a painting by the kind of Renaissance genius I’m referring to that an 80s New York artist is transported back in time to meet:
Here’s a painting by the 80s New York painting genius:
Do you notice a difference between the two painters? What would you imagine Uccello’s reaction would have been if the painter above were to a have taken a few of her masterpieces over to the studio of Uccello. Then upon, exhibiting them to Ucello she were to inquire whether he could use her help completing the Battle of San Romano? Do you think he’d take her seriously?
So why are paintings like the above exhibiting no more than stupendous incompetence considered to be works of towering genius….
Or take the “painting” below, work that’s so banal and witless it’s hard to even look at without getting a headache. Naturally it’s adored by the crowd that are delighted to have Kim Kardashian on the cover of Rolling Stone. But how have so-called “fine artists” sunk so low that they don’t say a word about what a pile of total crap art has turned into and that paintings so inept as the two pictured here are housed in museums that also house the work of the Rembrandts, Courbets, and Titians?
The charlatan Duchamp was fond of saying that he wanted to take art out of the hands of the stupid painters and return it to the service of the mind. Deep thinkers like himself with his profound insights into art, such as painting a moustache on a reproduction of the Mona Lisa. The entire latter part of the 20th century has been devoted to turning painting into some kind of lamentable junk of the Haring-Rothenberg-Schnabel variety. These are exactly the stupid painters that Duchamp was presumably rescuing art from?
On the one hand we have painting so inept (see above) that it barely qualifies for the level of a Hallmark Greeting card. On the other we have whatever kind of crack-brained nonsense the art world wants to proclaim as a brilliant conceptual installation, lifting us all toward art enlightenment if we follow the the zen-like spiritual attainments as we reach satori reading some piece of art speak nonsense.
At this point the art world has become so stupefyingly mindless and dishonest about it that it makes the Church of Scientology a far more interesting and justifiable intellectual and aesthetic achievement.
And yet there is little to no criticism whatsoever within the art world itself of just how vapid American Art of the 80s actually was. Let’s recall this was the disco era.. Well, sad to say, but Haring Basquiat Rothenberg would most legitimately be called Disco Art. It has all the characteristics of Disco. Trendy and now. No depth. A superficial upbeat quality. Lots of “pop” energy saying nothing whatsoever beyond a kind of “Have a Nice Day!” I think the phrase could adequately sum up the collective artistic ouevre of Haring and Scharf laid end to end, don’t you.
It’s all so positive, really. That’s the most important thing. Like Mr. Positive, Bob Rauschenberg and loveable Andy who loved everything he ever saw. It’s all about LOVE…..
Spread the love, people! It’s all gonna work out great!