Artsy Fartsy

Modern art is a great thing. It has, in these prudish times, allowed nude women to still be displayed (artistically) in public. Except for obvious alien faces, this artist had the right idea -- nudity sells, and mistresses could be self-supporting for the modern artist as long as they pose.

Alas, most modern artistes do not show such sense. Instead, it is about 'feelings' or 'rejection of modern society'. These artistes instead think that edginess is the way to go, and titillate their fellow artists with the droolings of paint. This artist, for instance, was shot whilst painting, resulting in an impeccable blending of shapes together. While this might be vibrant, and artists shooting themselves for that 'edginess' should be encouraged, it still produces mediocre art.

Mr. Dating (with a lowercase 'd' that I dare not replicate in this review, hopefully spiting this fellow in the process), whose modern art is seen in the book cover on the left, gets a bit closer to tasteful art. Alcohol and pills -- the breakfast of champions for the modern artiste. But to get this onto canvas involves little more than sitting upright in bed and staring at the nightstand after a night of banging the bongo drums at a poetry beat jam.

But today, we bring about a new beginning in art. One that can go from the cover of a corporate annual report, to coffee table cover, to a metre square covering the walls of a pretentious students dorm room. This is the simple photograph that brings about the question of function. Tissues are quite unassuming -- a great device for noses or stopping wounds from barfights. But here, they've been desecrated -- staples, wound-causing devices themselves, have been implanted. Death! Love! Laziness! Much more thought than forgetting to wash a paintbrush and continue painting! And no matter what price is paid, there'll always be $1 of paper value in it -- better than most art, or this blog for that matter.