art

ARRRRTTTTTT
Art! Thoughts of great painting tumble into my mind; canvas and oil aged with time hang across the world on walls. History captured to tell to all who have eyes to see the past the present and the future. Art is dead! Long live art. Jars of wool, tents and dirty sheets, splatter colours and excrement art for all ... all for art. When I look at the fish the tigers the elephants with long spindly legs the naked woman and the rotten pomegranate is what I see and feel the same as you? Her face hidden from view the hidden parts plain for all see. They say every picture tells a story, is it just one story or a story for all. Art stays the same every generation changes and is what they see … is it the same as you and me. I have stared at Blake’s work for hours on end trying to the see the devil or his friend, I struggle and fight and ask why oh why can the painting not speak? What kind of creator an artist must be to create and at the end the finished work is never complete. I ate a date, took a sip of Jim Beam scratched my head and thought is Art dead? Was it every living? I guess it was just take a look at the Portraits of Juliet. Galleries today equal salaries and art is like a spark that sets the greatest forest on fire, in a jumbled up world where man wants to be girl art stands fast. Art never started a war, killed a whore or pulled down a temple. Art inspired, brought hope and joy, a glimpse into another world or land it captured the harshness or elegance of life, helped mould the people, implant images into minds that would be held as true, Jesus and his twelve the battle of waterloo. Art I find it smart I like to eat a jam tart as I view art for free in the national or the Tate in the Tate I ate a marsh mellow pink I think it was sweet and sticky reminded me of sex when I was under age. Sex and art are not to far apart six degrees of separation. I paint on an invisible canvas with a winsor & Newton series 349 and nothing that is created will be remembered. Art like man will be destroyed by the dust from depleted uranium that dances around the world in the winds above are very heads and we take no note of it as we strive to create that great work that might hang or stand and be viewed by the lost and empty who search like me for some meaning to this curse, this life without meaning. Art my last refuge and hope that with in its canvas and oil can be found the key to open the door that brings balance and equilibrium into this world where money is funny, culture is rotten and drugs don’t work. Art hope and glory a story to be told. We see what we see and if it excites and stimulates makes the heart ache is it better then a walk in the park in the dark wondering how an arc could hold all the animals? Art! What is it? What should it be? Or do? What should we see?

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