A dangerous moment, when anger, lacking a healthy outlet, cools down to sadness.
For the record, O God(s) up there, times have never been as bad for painting. Never. Any claims to the contrary are delusion or propaganda. So don't say I didn't warn you.I've had it up to here with the state of 'contemporary art'. Even the words disgust me so that I have to isolate them between apostrophes. Fucking C********** A**. A subsidized handful of official painters (or 'artists' as they like to call themselves): the appointed Oligarchs of International Academism. And the nodding thousands applauding and/or imitating their example, without questioning, scrambling for a seat on the gravy train, destination Art World. Art criticism, if not clinically dead, more inarticulate, propagandist and inane than ever. Incompetent yet unimpeachable curators of museums and galleries. And then the happy-clappy public opinion cheering new media, Universal Mass Communication resulting in white noise or indifferent silence.
Art saving the world? More like the world smothering art in its sleep, and painting first.
Painting, the most scary of the arts, the least understood. Who has the cojones to jump in head first, to drown?
"Nous avons le droit d'être faible tout seul," wrote Jean Bazaine, some years ago now. Plutôt notre devoir, I would say, these days.
P.S: Even the weatherman can't be trusted these days; today (last thursday actually) was to be overcast with showers and occasional sunshine. No rain, no clouds this morning. A bad morning. Made one of my best drawings though. Wonder if anyone can spot it.
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