Art is Crap

The other day, Lady Aravan asked me if I thought people who came to our house thought our art choices were weird.  I responded that I didn’t think so, and essentially that I didn’t care too much if they did think that way, since we liked them.  The more I’ve thought about it, though, the more I have come to realize that art, of pretty much every sort, is total crap.

That’s not to say that art can’t be impressive.  If someone paints the entire Empire State Building with murals of poorly-configured and -proportioned faces, it’s still an impressive feat to cover that much surface with even poorly-drawn figures.  A Rubens painting is impressive, whether you like the style or not, for the sheer size and level of detail.  Most art is impressive, since making music isn’t easy, writing a play isn’t simple, singing isn’t a breeze.  It doesn’t stop it from being crap.

Really, though, when I say crap, I mean that what works for one person doesn’t work for someone else.  I love digital art, mostly renderings of people that look nearly photo-realistic with a fantasy twist, like Linda Bergkvist and similar artists.  Our house is full of her images, and several others in a similar style.  I love them, Lady Aravan loves them, and they make us happy.  Lots of people, though, would say they’re crap, that it isn’t art, blah blah blah.  It doesn’t matter to me, but to others, it’s crap.

That’s how I feel about nearly all abstract art.  To me, Picasso is pure crap.  The painting on my office wall that looks like a child’s fingerpainting – seriously, people have asked me if my child did it, not knowing that I have no kids – was purchased specifically for our office to the tune of 5 grand.  It’s total and complete crap.  Pollock?  Crap.  I hate them and all the painters like them.  Painters, digital and otherwise, who can accurately display the human form impress me.  People who throw up dots and dribbles and things that look vaguely like objects don’t.  It’s crap.

Musicals are crap.  I hate them.  I like stories to unfold like real life does, and the friends I have that burst into song are asking for a punch in the face or a thoroughly bitten arm (the latter courtesy of Lady Aravan, generally).  Country music is crap.  Hell, most music is total crap.  I love electronica, and most people think I’m out of my mind and think it’s pure shit.  I love that crap.  Novels are crap, including mine.  Some of them get selected to be taught in schools, when the Crap Threshold (the number of people who like a particular piece of  crap) reaches a certain level, just like with plays and paintings and the like.  “Beauty is the eye of the beholder,” the old saying goes, but I think it should be, “All art is shit; some people like different kinds of crap.”

About Alan Edwards

An indie writer who does accounting full-time on the side.

Posted on February 24, 2010, in Philosophizin' and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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