So around the 1900’s
A bunch of artists said
“What if, instead of pretty things
“We just made trash instead?”
And thus “modernism” started
Until 1970 or so
When artists became “post-modern”
And nobody came to their show.
So around the 1900’s
A bunch of artists said
“What if, instead of pretty things
“We just made trash instead?”
And thus “modernism” started
Until 1970 or so
When artists became “post-modern”
And nobody came to their show.
Filed under Poems
A lot of people are amazed
How in one hundred years
We went from riding horses
To the moon and diet beers.
What I find less impressive
Is that in that same epoch
We went from the Statue of David
To “Is this bedazzled pineapple a joke?”
Filed under Poems
There once was a political leftist
And another who leaned to the right.
They both mocked the art in banks and hotels
And then peacefully mumbled “Good night.”
Filed under Poems
The important part of making art
May be your visible passion
Whether for painting, poetry,
Sculpture, dance, or fashion.
It may be skill, in motion or still,
Technique from masters past…
But I think it’s knowing a millionaire
Who needs tax write-offs fast!
Filed under Poems
In the beginning was pre-scarcity art
And the caves and the rocks were a’plenty.
Thrag asked “Mom, can I draw on the wall?”
She’d say “Sure, have a square foot or twenty.”
But as cavekids kept coming and new caves did not
The biggest of Thrags made a rule:
“You only draw pictures of how great I am
“Or I hit you with club ‘til you drool.“
Well the biggest of cavemen was one they called “God”
(Though it’s translated plenty of ways)
And for a few dozen eons all art was created
To offer him penance and praise.
Then one of those days God’s goons stopped beheading
And burning those who spoke their mind
And artists were arting about love and go-karting
And the God stuff got all left behind.
Well folks love their love (and, a bit less, their go-karts)
But artists got bored making beauty
So they started to mix, splatter, smear, scrape, and “other”
And their art got much less “bowl of fruit”y.
The people cried out “What’s this art all about?”
And the artists would pout and say “Feelings”
When really we know that the art status-quo
Was more about shady cash dealings.
And now we’ve arrived when the people are tired
Of listening to skilled people sing
And the artists are taught in the college of thought
That good art mustn’t mean anything.
So I, being me, full of whimsy and glee
Know you see that my own art is bad…
But my art’s about stuff, and today that’s enough
To make even my crap not so bad.
Filed under Poems
I like how people decided
That art was subjective
And you can like anything you want
But then you draw a bicycle
And you get a C in art class
From a guy whose degree
Taught them a red line on a blank canvas
Was worth millions of dollars.
Maybe I should be a politician instead?
Filed under Poems
Part of making art
Is having sincere belief
That your crap is gold.
Filed under Poems
People always say
“I miss the good old days”
But I think that’s misguided
In many different ways,
Chief of which is that
Although they made so many gargoyles
And so many fountains
The two were very seldom combined,
Which means we’ve had thousands of years
That could have had gargling gargoyles
And yet we got garden gnomes.
Filed under Poems
Today I drew a cat.
Everyone said “Nice pig.”
They recognized it was an animal
Which, progress-wise, I think is big!
Filed under Poems
Art.
Art is when your self-expression
Is super meaningful and deep
In a way that nobody else understands.
It doesn’t rhyme
Or look like reality
Or sell in Peoria
(Or anywhere else for that matter).
It has imagery in it
Like “Salty red horse”
Or “Spider fingers”
That evoke people’s minds
But don’t make them think.
Art is for people who feel
Or who have a lot of money
That they need to launder
And also lots of wall space.
Art.
Carrier pigeon with orange sauce.
Filed under Poems