I found a quote recently in a book by an art critic called Andrew Graham-Dixon (whose recent book I immediately put down when he made some very carping comments about the Pre-Raphaelites ...) that might, or might not, throw some light upon today's aesthetic paucity.
He wrote :
A work of art is that which one who claims to be an artist, claims to be a work of art.
Oh, dear ... I can hear the groans across oceans!
I'm not sure if he actually meant this, or was indulging in a fit of sarcasm, but since he has waxed lyrical about the so-called "sensitivity" of people like Pollock and de Kooning, the latter is unlikely.
This is, of course, a slightly more sophisticated rendering of Damien Hirst's own retort, when asked if his work was art :
It's in an art gallery, innit?
(to be spoken in a semi-literate, whining, nasal tone).
Is it any wonder that the public are so disenchanted with the art establishment, when this is the kind of rhetoric they hear in justification of what is ultimately the unjustifiable?
Awaiting replies,
David "Pulchritudinism" Edwards.
PS : to the girl who asked if it had something to do with boxing ... I have some shares I can sell you if you're interested ...
