of shoes and ships - and sealing wax - of cabbages and kings.'
The times of manning the barricades have long since past for me. I no longer hold my breath waiting for change. Hoping, against all hope, perhaps, but I have no illusion that pissing against the wind will change the course of the Titanic.
From time to time, articles such as "Successor states to an empire in free fall" appear that would promise a glimmer of hope:
"I believe that something different really is happening in today's cultural jungle. Something is stirring that hasn't been seen for 30 years. New theories are emerging with strange and wonderful names that aim to describe in detail a culture and society they say are found on the far side of postmodernism." - Alan Kirby -but alas, the triumphant proclamation:
Postmodernism is dead. Wail and rend your clothes. Postmodernism is dead. The tyrant is vanquished!
was probably a little premature. Like I said, don't hold your breath! From time to time, I might indulge in the occasional rant, such as in my post About "Modern Art" and its excesses or I may also pass on some observations such as I'm sick of pretending: I don't get Art - but.... refer to my Titanic quote above.
However, I cannot help throwing the occasional firecracker, little barbs that I am well aware of won't change the course of history one iota, but doing so is catharsis - it makes me feel better (hopefully, it makes you feel better also, that's the whole point). Jeff Koons could probably care less about what I write, nor would he even know who the hell I am or why he should even care. But I do want to say right here that I find him to be a very engaging and likable individual, and I enjoyed the way he talked about his art.
Lets get to the point, after all this preliminary banter:
LAOKOON, ANTI-LAOKOON and ANTI-KOONS
When I say nothing surprises me: I contributed on several occasions conceptual ideas to our spin-off paper that came out irregularly during carnival and at April Fools Day. It was called "The McLiarist". A few of these conceptual head-slappers I now recognize in contemporary con-art - could it be that somehow they read yellowed copies of this rather obscure (fake) student paper from way back when? Or was I simply clairvoyant?
I therefore propose the
being imaginary basketballs turned inside-out and filling the space of an otherwise empty gallery.