Art

My dear friend Rich is working on a little project called something like, Bragging Rights. Basically it's a collection of self-reports of what people would brag about given the opportunity--stripping restrictions and identifiers. Good project...I had nothing for him 'cuz I don't brag or gamble.

But if someone does a piece called Embarrassment Rights, then I might be able to relate; I got plenty.

Huh?! Here's what I'm talking about:

I just read about Aliza Shvarts' Yale senior art project: [clicky].

“I hope it inspires some sort of discourse,” Shvarts said. “Sure, some people will be upset with the message and will not agree with it, but it’s not the intention of the piece to scandalize anyone.”

Where did I go off the rails with regard to the conception [no pun here] of what "art" is? I'm not saying I love or hate the Shvarts piece since I haven't seen it, but damn me if her brain didn't take her off into a tangent that I cannot even conceive [no pun intended]. I do not ever have to see it. The conception is the art.

So for the Embarrassment Rights project, I submit to you...my entire body of art. I could do better. As Aliza has demonstrated, we could all do much, much better. Pictures of people flossing in traffic isn't art. It is exactly what it is, the detritus of what is left of what was once called a society or culture. It's waste; shit.

Back to the drawing board. Time's running out!


Postscript: And isn't it odd that this art student's name is surprisingly similar to my recently dead artist friend, Ania Szklarz? Don't think so? Well it is. And there's this weird life/death deal going on too.