What is Art? (Baby don’t hurt me)

I never got Art.
Not as in I never purchased it, I just never got what it was all about.
I could interpret it. If the wife and I went to a gallery she would have to read the plaque to get a feel of what was going on while I could quite easily grasp the artists angst directed towards the government of Nova Scotia over their decision to ban the export of whale oil due to an increase of orca poaching to help supplement the local market place. But dear god couldn’t they have managed to get the point across without so many naked genitals?!

I think that’s what irks me about modern art. It’s far too genital heavy. Too sexualised for the sake of shock. You can get your point across about the sacrifice of innocence in children thanks to the oppressive nature of the church just fine by crucifying a Tickle Me Elmo, you don’t need to put a 12” black rubber strap-on onto him.
We’ll get the point, trust me.

So why use past tense at the beginning ask those of you paying attention? Do I suddenly get art now?
Well yes and no.

To understand this we have to travel way back to the days of MSN messenger where, in my profile under ‘favourite artist’, the name Andy Warhol sat.
Why was Andy Warhol my favourite artist? Because he was the only artists I could name off the top of my head.
You see, I’m an idiot. And as an idiot, my belief of Art as a young larvae was that it was condensed strictly to the mediums of sculpture and pictures. Photographs being a far detached cousin of Art.

It hasn’t been until recently that I’ve come to appreciate that anything can be Art.
Paitings, Sculptures, Music, Movies, Physiques, those little miniature trains made from the lead of pencils, driving around a race track, killing hobos (don’t do that) literally anything can become Art.

I know you probably don’t give a shit so I’ll move to the end quicker.
I get Art now. I get it because I’ve finally let the preconceived notion that Art must always be a picture or a sculpture go. And I came to this conclusion seeking creative fulfilment.

I have been searching (I now understand) for creative fulfilment for as far back as I can recall.
From making weird and wonderful Lego machines to sculpting Warhammer miniatures. From drawing and colouring a webcomic to other modalities of digital art. From resistance training and moulding my physique to writing.
It’s all been a long, directionless endeavour to create something I’m not only happy with but proud of.
And out of all of these differing mediums, over all my life, producing many random works, I can say without a flicker of self indulgent attention seeking narcissism that, I’ve hated almost 90% of everything I’ve created.

Honestly. Everything I make off my own back (not things that I mimic, I’m a pretty good mimic) has this… look. This feel. This underlying taste of shit. And I honestly can’t tell you if other people notice the crap at the centre of the lollypop because I don’t share any of it with anyone out of embarrassment of my godawful lack of abilities. I don’t share unless I love it or I think it’s infallibly perfect.
Until now that is where I just throw any random words onto the interwebs because fuck it, this is MAH page.

I kid though. The only reason I share all of these words with all of you wonderful people is because I love this shit. I love to write and I love it because what I can create with mushed up words smooshed into sentences is, I believe, unique and not half bad.
And while I’ve made heaps of unique stuff before, this is unique work that doesn’t make me want to puke into a bag, set the bag on fire, bury it in a coffin then sink it in the bottom of a lake. (For the most part)

So you can understand I got a little distressed when I had a bit of writers block this week and couldn’t do what I love so much.
Then, with my newly transcendental appreciation for Art and creation, I thought ‘Fuck it, why don’t I give painting a crack because canvases are 50% off over there and the wife and I want some art for the wall.’
So we did three painting between the two of us.
She hates hers, we both hate the one we made together and we both love what I made alone.

So here it is.
My literary laxative.
Enjoy the lack of dicks and shit and sorry it took so long to get to the point.

Splodey skull
Splodey skull

Oh and as for the ‘No’ in the ‘Yes and No’? I still don’t really get Art because I still haven’t figured out what’s with all the genitals.
– Jacob

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