above: Adolf Shickelgruber, Sheriff Bartington Checking to See if He Still Has a Pulse (detail), 1865
When I USE the word artist below I’m referring primarily to Contemporary Art \ PostModern Artists
21st Century Epistemology Swimming in an Ocean of Bullshit
Memoirs Found in a Urinal
HOW I KNOW
Because unlike so many other “artist ” I’m not staring exclusively at my own navel or my reflection in a mirror thinking I’m an artist.
Because I’ve been looking resolutely at the world around me for more than three decades and drawing what I see. It ain’t a pretty picture, folks.
Because I rarely bother to go onto a computer to read about art since I find everything written a combination of fantasy, bullshit, fakery and naked self-promotion written by people who don’t say a single meaningful thing as they’re trying to sell their “art”, whatever that is.
Because I could give a rat’s ass what anybody else thinks of me or my work after having it attacked since art school by nothing but retarded assholes who don’t know the first fucking thing about art. That’s why they teach. And all they teach is conformity to their, and society’s sterile and absurd notions about what art is.
Because I realized drawing is nothing more than a way to access the reality that underlies the transient material plane and outside of that it is useless and worth nothing whatsoever.
Because like Leonardo before me I stumbled long ago onto the fact that drawing is not a preparation for life it’s a preparation for death.
Because I think all art critics are babbling morons who don’t know their ass from their elbow about anything whatsoever, much less about “art”, which is a completely meaningless word.
Because I have little interest at all in art and even less in artists, particularly after spending years trying to talk to the dimwits. 99 percent of them are totally humorless people who actually take what they do seriously. Unlike me, a dimwit who takes nothing I do seriously. Look up the word narcissist in a dictionary and you’ll find a perfect definition of the contemporary artist.
Because unlike the rest of the art world I realize my shit stinks and am willing to admit it when I sit down to the drawing board.
Because I listened long ago to my old and wise mentor, Paul Pavel, when he told me that Sisyphus was a happy man.
Because I know that anything written about art is complete nonsense including what I write.
Because a little birdie told me.
Picture of little birdie who told me (below):
John Bartman, The Little Birdie Who Told Me (detail), pigmented opium, 2052