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art is art even if I hate the people who made it and think it sucks and all the fans are rude about it. art status cannot be revoked based on who made it or how it appeals to me or how people engage with it. imho.

you disagree. reblog.

#sfw #personal #ok to reblog #defining art #philosophy #reblog bait #inspired by some posts I've been seeing recently which I only almost agree with but they rub me the wrong way

Marcel Duchamp, Fountain, 1917

Photograph by Alfred Stieglitz

(In 1917, Duchamp notoriously submitted a urinal to an exhibition organized by the Society of Independent Artists in New York. The original was later destroyed inadvertently.)

After all, works of art are always the result of one’s having been in danger, of having gone through an experience all the way to the end, to where no one can go any further.

Letters on Cézanne, Rainer Maria Rilke

#ph #classiquelle #mine #poetry #peinture #cezanne #rilke #brodsky #defining art #arterialtrees #tracey emin #abramovic #art theory

"happy endings are boring" to you. I need to talk about hope or I die.

"if you don't want anyone to die in your stories do you even like when stories make you feel things" yes, but in case you forgot while trying to be the least cringe art enjoyer on the cringe website, joy and hope and love and relief are also human emotions that are actually quite important and art depicting them is not inherently less sophisticated.

Can someone tell me why I'm seeing so many takes that seem to boil down to "suffering is intellectual" coated in dunking on big industry soulless junk as though art can be neatly divided into "tragic complex masterpieces" and "stupid cringe stuff that tiktok teens like because of anti-intellectualism"? Nice dichotomy idiot can you pull your head out of your ass and tell me what lies outside it?

#sfw #personal #Don't take this too seriously I'm mainly venting and yelling at vague memories of posts that rub me the wrong way #defining art #<- tag for when I get mad at people implying any art is less art than other art

New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/aging-musings/on-the-occasion-of-my-mothers-1200th-birthday/

On The Occasion Of My Mother's 100th Birthday

Recently, my mother celebrated her 100th birthday. I took her to lunch at a restaurant we’d frequented over the years. The proprietor doesn’t open in the afternoons, but for us he did. To make the occasion festive, I brought a balloon and birthday cards sent by my friends who knew this was her special day. After a 100 years, none of her peers remain. As we waited for our meal, the two of us made light conversation. By now, we know each other so well, words aren’t really necessary. Still, she struggled to find them, and when they evaded her, I noted the despair in her eyes. The best I could do was smile and fill in the gaps, behaving as if losing the capacity for speech were as common as air. Forgetting words represents a special hell for me, a struggling writer. Other art forms, music, sculpture, painting have no need for language — which is why, I suppose, critics exist: to translate the artist’s medium into a message for the rest of us. In my opinion, it’s a futile effort. In his latest book, Portraits: John Berger on Artists, the author agrees with me, describing the critic, of which he is also one, as, “somebody who judged and pontificated about things he knew a little or nothing about.” (“Outside the White Box,” by Mark Kingwell, Harper’s, Feb. 2016, pg. 93. ) Having settled that matter for himself, Berger goes on to ask what art is by examining the conclusion of others. Some say art is whatever the artist says it is. (Ibid. Pg.91) A urinal filled with candy is art if it resides in a museum. Or, “art is a call to arms or for spiritual improvement.” (Ibid pg. 91) Perhaps it’s “revelatory of the human condition.” (Ibid pg. 94.) Or it’s truth: a way of reconfiguring what we suppose we know into something fresh. At its very best, Berger summarizes, art “conjur[es] up the presence of something which is not there.” (Ibid pg. 94.) Though it may seem like buck-passing, I agree with the first proposal. Art is whatever the artist says it is. Didn’t Warhol teach us that with his soup can? Once created, the audience can wrangle about whether or not the experience is revelatory or magical and whether or not the work should be buried or immortalized — a decision not to be relegated to keepers of the cannon alone, or Catcher in the Rye might never have seen the light of day. To be honest, all I know of art is that it’s fluid, like language. Catching a falling star would be easier than pinning art’s intention to a mat, like a butterfly. To be art, it must soar. At the very least, art is an attempt to escape our inner world and touch others. For a writer, words create that revelatory or magical connection. That’s why, on the occasion of my mother’s 100 birthday, I went home and cried. (Originally Published 2/22/16)

#defining art #Mark Kingwell #Outside the White Box #what is art?#words as a writer's tools