But is it Art?
Dec. 31st, 2007 05:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stephbgWent in to town today with Husband to check out the "Monster" DVD sale at the convention centre. I wasn't hopeful of finding anything particularly interesting, but they usually kick up some of those unpopular and wildly obscure films so beloved of my darling one.
We caught the train down to the Esplanade and used telepathy to navigate our way to the convention centre. I know it's just next door, but it seems to have escaped the designers of that neck of the woods that people coming fresh off the train are not necessarily going to know which part of the compass to go for. I must be blind to signage. I did spot a few directions, but they were itty bitty little things, and the "main" path up to the CBD remains as forbidding as always. The Big Hole is growing over nicely though.
Anyway, to the thoroughly and hysterically advertised DVD/book sale. It was closed. Oh well, their loss.
We were drawn instead (and I suspect a conspiracy) to an "American Artists" sale next door. All very large canvases, but most works were convieniently available in two sizes: large and massive. Very American. The representative works - large extreme closeups of animal heads - were near the door, and they looked reasonably impressive from the corridor. What lurked behind in row after row were thousands of ho-hum graphical design paintings of the type I dallied with long ago, having discovered that representational art is Tricky.
Most art shows inspire me. The works are either of great technical or artistic merit and make me wish to strive to greatness, or so my-5-year-old-could-do-that that I am inspired to demonstrate my obvious superiority. These were of sufficient technical merit to disqualify the kindergarten comparisons, but so soulless as to instill disinterest. If there'd been fewer of them they might have seemed more special, but the sheer weight of numbers immediately devalued them.
We speculated as to their origin. On close inspection the signatures were clearly stamped. I think it's fair to assume an army of impoverished art students were probably responsible for the work. Something about the designs suggested they were actually computer-generated, and then supplied to the artists to copy.
We only made it about half way through the space, depressed (and yet amused and amazed) by the battery art. The odd bad Monet copy didn't really help. We escaped with our bank balance unchallenged.
This changed after we made our way to The Pit of Temptation (JB's) in the city. Husband scored some rare studio footage of Charlie Parker and sundry other jazz musicians, some of which was silent, but still considered important enough to scrape off the floor and burn to DVD. He was very excited, for there's apparently only one other film recording of Charlie Parker and he has it already. Naturally.
At the last minute I "popped" into Dymocks and picked up the latest Anne/Todd McCaffrey Pern book. It's a disease. Oh well, I was dressed for the event, having today debuted one of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
leecetheartist's Christmas-present-to-self unicorn T-shirts.
Home to rest, cook lamb shanks and then tonight to drag carcass out todoctor_k_ and strangedave to farewell 2007, if not to see in 2008.
I am unlikely to do a year in review memey post, for I have immense difficulty in packaging memories by calendar date. This is one of the reasons I blog so much, so I won't have to stretch my mind back. The title "Propping up a Dodgy Memory" is deadly serious.
No one night stands, though. That I can say with confidence.
We caught the train down to the Esplanade and used telepathy to navigate our way to the convention centre. I know it's just next door, but it seems to have escaped the designers of that neck of the woods that people coming fresh off the train are not necessarily going to know which part of the compass to go for. I must be blind to signage. I did spot a few directions, but they were itty bitty little things, and the "main" path up to the CBD remains as forbidding as always. The Big Hole is growing over nicely though.
Anyway, to the thoroughly and hysterically advertised DVD/book sale. It was closed. Oh well, their loss.
We were drawn instead (and I suspect a conspiracy) to an "American Artists" sale next door. All very large canvases, but most works were convieniently available in two sizes: large and massive. Very American. The representative works - large extreme closeups of animal heads - were near the door, and they looked reasonably impressive from the corridor. What lurked behind in row after row were thousands of ho-hum graphical design paintings of the type I dallied with long ago, having discovered that representational art is Tricky.
Most art shows inspire me. The works are either of great technical or artistic merit and make me wish to strive to greatness, or so my-5-year-old-could-do-that that I am inspired to demonstrate my obvious superiority. These were of sufficient technical merit to disqualify the kindergarten comparisons, but so soulless as to instill disinterest. If there'd been fewer of them they might have seemed more special, but the sheer weight of numbers immediately devalued them.
We speculated as to their origin. On close inspection the signatures were clearly stamped. I think it's fair to assume an army of impoverished art students were probably responsible for the work. Something about the designs suggested they were actually computer-generated, and then supplied to the artists to copy.
We only made it about half way through the space, depressed (and yet amused and amazed) by the battery art. The odd bad Monet copy didn't really help. We escaped with our bank balance unchallenged.
This changed after we made our way to The Pit of Temptation (JB's) in the city. Husband scored some rare studio footage of Charlie Parker and sundry other jazz musicians, some of which was silent, but still considered important enough to scrape off the floor and burn to DVD. He was very excited, for there's apparently only one other film recording of Charlie Parker and he has it already. Naturally.
At the last minute I "popped" into Dymocks and picked up the latest Anne/Todd McCaffrey Pern book. It's a disease. Oh well, I was dressed for the event, having today debuted one of
leecetheartist's Christmas-present-to-self unicorn T-shirts.Home to rest, cook lamb shanks and then tonight to drag carcass out to
doctor_k_ and strangedave to farewell 2007, if not to see in 2008.I am unlikely to do a year in review memey post, for I have immense difficulty in packaging memories by calendar date. This is one of the reasons I blog so much, so I won't have to stretch my mind back. The title "Propping up a Dodgy Memory" is deadly serious.
No one night stands, though. That I can say with confidence.
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Date: 2007-12-31 09:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-31 10:10 am (UTC)