|As an artist of that pseudo-professional variety (meaning I've got paid for it, but not enough to live off proper) who's consistently amazed when people pay for something I've done (be it paint, prose, or the eight foot high banner of cancelled revolution a bar in LA rented from me for three years before I just gave it to them to avoid feeling guilty) - I can honestly say, the problem, as I see it, has nothing to do with people thinking they could 'do that' but the horrendous, terrifying number of people out there who think they (a) can't do it, and (b) can't understand or interpret it even when they clearly do. Are people programmed over decades of school and television to believe they're uncreative idiots who can't make a single intuitive or rational leap?|
I can remember, few years back, a bunch of us just fucking about all day with paint and canvas and wood and gaffer tape and when someone stopped by and asked if they could use some of the pieces to fill space in a gallery for a few nights of an upcoming show... someone actually refused on the basis that they were 'not really painting' or some similar shit. Bullshit.
Of course, I just watched a visiting Prof. tell a grad-level class that Picasso and VanGogh never added anything to the world of art and were completely worthless, so... maybe it's just that my aesthetic sense is too free or enjoys too much a bit too much, but y'know, this low/high-brow, entertainment/infotainment/I-Don't-Get-It-So-It-Must-Be-Intelligent, idea that limitations and restrictions and BECAUSE I SAY SO! just annoys me. Talent, patience, energy, impetus, technique and all is very good and useful applied this way, done that, but the idea that it's all beyond you, me, or the few billion I out there is just crap.
The pattern you make, walking/driving/sitting/dancing over the space of a day, that's fucking art, and it's open to a helluva lot of interpretation, almost all of it absolutely right. The sound of twitchy fingers hitting keys to make pictures that collude into other pictures which have meaning and are called words: art. Zombina and the Skeletones, red shag carpet, rugby, schoolgirls in cat-ears ice-skating arm in arm laughing at a fat middle-aged man falling on his ass trying to impress them is all of it art. Why? Because I, as audience, say so.