It looks like an Ashes to Ashes video tribute, perhaps that's the subtext, perhaps that's what all art has become now that Bowie's gone and it can't be explained. Tribute acts morph into art. They'll remain with us for all eternity. Repetition of form and ideas, viewed like a commoner, a layman's/everyman's view of a fashion show. Posh frocks, sharp moves and gloomy faces. There's nothing left to get, there's no actual content, no understanding, it's a form of indigestible soup. As if the cardboard police man in the doorway of Home Bargains was threatening to arrest shoplifters and drunks and all the poor security guard can do is to look away from his grainy CCTV screen. He's not been trained in this you know.
When Kayne West says he's the greatest artist of all time I shudder, then I think he's probably right and that's because the value of his art, his contribution to popular culture, only really exists in his own head so it can't be questioned. He's also American. You have to rationalize things to stop the shuddering I've found. Chances are if proper academic comparisons were made he'd be well outside the top all time 10000 but that doesn't matter, he has actual sales figures and a big mouth. Me I'm just a plagiarist, that is when I do bother doing anything. I'm looking through a very narrow slit in a very thick wall and stealing the tiny particles I can see. They might be useful.
I'm a Martian Rover type of person, awake after sleeping, out exploring with limited capability, special wheels for the strange surface, claws out and handfuls of dust particles, hoovered up and filtered, into bags and shiny containers, some rudimentary analysis, laser beams and litmus paper, quick conclusions and then ... silence across the universe, the steady loss of signal as the batteries die. I can get by on that nicely.
No comments:
Post a Comment