I don't think it's the money thing for me (not entirely anyway) It's more the idea perpetuated by critics and galleries that detail, realism and craftsmanship are the enemies of all that makes good 'Art'. Why does an artist's work have to be abstracted to beyond the point of comprehesion for it to be considered 'worthy'?
Last summer I spent a long while in the Tate Modern trying to get my thoughts about 'modern Art' into some kind of order. I tried hard to look with an open mind, after all this stuff is held in high regard by what Robert Bateman refers to as the high priests of the critics' temple. Every piece on display had a lengthy explanation on the wall nearby and, in an effort to reach a level of understanding, I read many of them from start to finish. They were, without exception, almost totally incomprehensible. When a tiny section made any sense to me I would look at the piece with the benefit of that understanding, reasoning that I would be able to see with new eyes. But, alas, the piece would remain a bicycle on the floor that was spraypainted white, a row of very simply made pots that looked like they'd come from a GCSE class, or a collection of random crap culled from a bin bag on a council estate.
The implication is obviously that I, as a member of the proletariat, do not posess the same level of intellect posessed by the galleries and critics and that, no matter how hard they try with their explanations and protestations of greatness, I will never understand the important messages that these talented Artists are sending.
Reading back over what I've just said I realise that it must be true; I am a fool and I must apologise to the Emperor.
I am sorry Imperial Majesty, it is indeed the most magnificent suit of clothes I have ever been privileged enough to be permitted to see and I thank you for the gift of enlightenment.
Ever humble and ever in my place.
Mike
