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JamesE
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Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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 Posted: Thu Feb 08, 2007 1:19 am |
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if you don't think dancing is art then you're some kind of awful honkey fyi
Eating is an art. There is an art to shitting, showering, jizzing and fucking. I guess I agree with dada totally kneeing the art scene in the balls and letting it bleed out into every day life. I sort of half-remember staying up to watch a Gondry-centric episode of Glitterball and I'm sure he used some videogame imagery in it. He's being a responsible dad, though - kids waste too much time playing videogames. I wish I hadn't got hooked so young. |
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JamesE
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Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Thu Feb 08, 2007 2:04 am |
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| JamesE wrote: |
| you're some kind of awful honkey fyi |
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JamesE
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Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Thu Feb 08, 2007 2:37 am |
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OK Wikipedia claims NiGHTs is a recurring motif in the science of sleep
Gondry you two-faced cunting shit (swearing on behalf of true NGJ warriors the world over HIYAH) |
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JamesE
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Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Thu Feb 08, 2007 3:01 pm |
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| Eric-Jon Rössel Waugh wrote: |
Best solution, if you're a concerned film director: tell your kid that, on a daily basis, he can't play a game for longer than the length of an average movie. Then he has to go do something constructive for an equal length of time. Perhaps analyze what he got out of the experience, in some medium or another.
And there we go. |
Or just don't let him play video games at all
voila
Now you are Michael Gondry and your scion will be prince of the world |
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JamesE
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Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Thu Feb 08, 2007 3:23 pm |
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High art is art that thinks it shit so fly but it ain't
Really the only difference between high and low art is subjective pretense |
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JamesE
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Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Thu Feb 08, 2007 3:51 pm |
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| Shapermc wrote: |
| Predator Goose wrote: |
| Can high art be funny? |
I hear that Shakespeare wrote a few comedies. |
Which meant different things back then: IE that everyone didn't end the play raped up and murdered.
Art can be fucking hilarious. |
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JamesE
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Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Thu Feb 08, 2007 4:21 pm |
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| You guys need to understand Dada ok |
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JamesE
banned
Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Fri Feb 09, 2007 3:40 am |
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| Ebrey wrote: |
| Have you two read Runaways? I think it's a better superhero comic than Watchmen and DKR, |
Quoted for semi-truth - there's a great deal of fun to be had in re-reading Watchmen and noticing new details in the art. Runaways is pretty great stuff, though. |
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JamesE
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Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Fri Feb 09, 2007 3:58 am |
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| Eric-Jon Rössel Waugh wrote: |
| Art is a means of communication through implicit, rather than explicit, symbolism and meant to appeal to the subconscious and intuition, rather than to the conscious and reason. |
So when Shylock adresses the audience and says
| Quote: |
Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs,
dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with
the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject
to the same diseases, heal'd by the same means,
warm'd and cool'd by the same winter and summer
as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed?
If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us,
do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?
If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.
If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility?
Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his
sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge.
The villainy you teach me, I will execute,
and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction. |
The Merchant of Venice ceases to be art, resuming only when act Act III, scene I ends?
| someone who is an artist wrote wrote: |
I am for an art that is political-erotical-mystical, that does something other than sit on its ass in a museum.
I am for an art that grows up not knowing it is art at all, an art given the chance of having a staring point of zero.
I am for an art that embroils itself with the everyday crap & still comes out on top.
I am for an art that imitates the human, that is comic, if necessary, or violent, or whatever is necessary.
I am for an art that takes its form from the lines of life itself, that twists and extends and accumulates and spits and drips, and is heavy and coarse and blunt and sweet and stupid as life itself.
I am for an artist who vanishes, turning up in a white cap painting signs or hallways.
I am for an art that comes out of a chimney like black hair and scatters in the sky.
I am for an art that spills out of an old man's purse when he is bounced off a passing fender.
I am for the art out of a doggy's mouth, falling five stories from the roof.
I am for the art that a kid licks, after peeling away the wrapper.
I am for an art that joggles like everyones knees, when the bus traverses an excavation.
I am for art that is smoked, like a cigarette, smells, like a pair of shoes.
I am for art that flaps like a flag or helps blow noses, like a handkerchief.
I am for art that is put on and taken off, like pants, which develops holes, like socks, which is eaten, like a piece of pie, or abandoned with great contempt, like a piece of shit.
I am for art covered with bandages, I am for art that limps and rolls and runs and jumps. I am for art comes in a can or washes up on the shore.
I am for art that coils and grunts like a wrestler. I am for art that sheds hair.
I am for art you can sit on. I am for art you can pick your nose with or stub your toes on.
I am for art from a pocket, from deep channels of the ear, from the edge of a knife, from the corners of the mouth, stuck in the eye or worn on the wrist.
I am for art under the skirts, and the art of pinching cockroaches.
I am for the art of conversation between the sidewalk and a blind mans metal stick.
I am for the art that grows in a pot, that comes down out of the skies at night, like lightning, that hides in the clouds and growls. I am for art that is flipped on and off with a switch.
I am for art that unfolds like a map, that you can squeeze, like your sweetys arm, or kiss, like a pet dog. Which expands and squeaks, like an accordion, which you can spill your dinner on, like an old tablecloth.
I am for an art that you can hammer with, stitch with, sew with, paste with, file with.
I am for an art that tells you the time of day, or where such and such a street is.
I am for an art that helps old ladies across the street.
I am for the art of the washing machine. I am for the art of a government check. I am for the art of last wars raincoat.
I am for the art that comes up in fogs from sewer-holes in winter. I am for the art that splits when you step on a frozen puddle. I am for the worms art inside the apple. I am for the art of sweat that develops between crossed legs.
I am for the art of neck-hair and caked tea-cups, for the art between the tines of restaurant forks, for odor of boiling dishwater.
I am for the art of sailing on Sunday, and the art of red and white gasoline pumps.
I am for the art of bright blue factory columns and blinking biscuit signs.
I am for the art of cheap plaster and enamel. I am for the art of worn marble and smashed slate. I am for the art of rolling cobblestones and sliding sand. I am for the art of slag and black coal. I am for the art of dead birds.
I am for the art of scratchings in the asphalt, daubing at the walls. I am for the art of bending and kicking metal and breaking glass, and pulling at things to make them fall down.
I am for the art of punching and skinned knees and sat-on bananas. I am for the art of kids' smells. I am for the art of mama-babble.
I am for the art of bar-babble, tooth-picking, beerdrinking, egg-salting, in-sulting. I am for the art of falling off a bartstool.
I am for the art of underwear and the art of taxicabs. I am for the art of ice-cream cones dropped on concrete. I am for the majestic art of dog-turds, rising like cathedrals.
I am for the blinking arts, lighting up the night. I am for art falling, splashing, wiggling, jumping, going on and off.
I am for the art of fat truck-tires and black eyes.
I am for Kool-art, 7-UP art, Pepsi-art, Sunshine art, 39 cents art, 15 cents art, Vatronol Art, Dro-bomb art, Vam art, Menthol art, L & M art Ex-lax art, Venida art, Heaven Hill art, Pamryl art, San-o-med art, Rx art, 9.99 art, Now art, New ar, How art, Fire sale art, Last Chance art, Only art, Diamond art, Tomorrow art, Franks art, Ducks art, Meat-o-rama art.
I am for the art of bread wet by rain. I am for the rat's dance between floors. I am for the art of flies walking on a slick pear in the electric light. I am for the art of soggy onions and firm green shoots. I am for the art of clicking among the nuts when the roaches come and go. I am for the brown sad art of rotting apples.
I am for the art of meowls and clatter of cats and for the art of their dumb electric eyes.
I am for the white art of refigerators and their muscular openings and closing.
I am for the art of rust and mold. I am for the art of hearts, funeral hearts or sweetheart hearts, full of nougat. I am for the art of worn meathooks and singing barrels of red, white, blue and yellow meat.
I am for the art of things lost or thrown away, coming home from school. I am for the art of cock-and-ball trees and flying cows and the noise of rectangles and squares. I am for for the art of crayons and weak grey pencil-lead, and grainy wash and sticky oil paint, and the art of windshield wipers and the art of the finger on a cold window, on dusty steel or in the bubbles on the sides of a bathtub.
I am for the art of teddy-bears and guns and decapitated rabbits, explodes umbrellas, raped beds, chairs with their brown bones broken, burning trees, firecracker ends, chicken bones, pigeon bones, and boxes with men sleeping in them.
I am for the art of slightly rotten funeral flowers, hung bloody rabbits and wrinkly yellow chickens, bass drums & tambourines, and plastic phonographs.
I am for the art of abandoned boxes, tied like pharohs. I am for an art of watertanks and speeding clouds and flapping shades.
I am for U.S. Government Inspected Art, Grade A art, Regular Price art, Yellow Ripe art, Extra Fancy art, Ready-to-eat art, Best-for-less art, Ready-to-cook art, Fully cleaned art, Spend Less art, Eat Better art, Ham art, Pork art, chicken art, tomato art, bana art, apple art, turkey art, cake art, cookie art.
add:
I am for an art that is combed down, that is hung from each ear, that is laid on the lips and under the eyes, that is shaved from the legs, that is burshed on the teeth, that is fixed on the thighs, that is slipped on the foot.
square which becomes blobby |
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JamesE
banned
Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Fri Feb 09, 2007 5:25 am |
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| Eric-Jon Rössel Waugh wrote: |
| JamesE wrote: |
So when Shylock adresses the audience and says...
The Merchant of Venice ceases to be art, resuming only when act Act III, scene I ends? |
No. See, it was never art to begin with. |
Dude's got it all worked out and he never even passed collage
Well, debate over |
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JamesE
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Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Fri Feb 09, 2007 5:41 am |
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My point was more that you're very pompous and arrogant and it's very obnoxious to even approach trying to talk to you, Eric. Ergo why I usually just make a few one liners than try not to think about it too much, lest I grate my teeth down very small indeed.
The Merchant of Venice is a pretty complex historical work which either ends up as an anti-Jewish popularist piece, a subversive attack on racial and religious prejudice, or a commentary on the nature of repentance*. It owes nothing to the biological or survivalist drives. That for me and for many, many other people is art. I also think the arrangement of fridge magnets is wonderful art. So would Clares Oldenburg, if he's not to busy being really old.
Your view of art is stilted and dogmatic. I expect you're pleased with it but it doesn't make you look half as clever or insightful as you think it does. Art is not autism (although autistics can produce wonderful, wonderful art).
*You may notice there is very little of this in Invasion of the Darleks |
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JamesE
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Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Fri Feb 09, 2007 5:54 am |
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Here's some more wonderful retorical art:
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Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines6 that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori. |
Deny that and you deny a man who died in the last embers of World War One... I'm not really sure how anyone can say that isn't some of the finest art in existence. |
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JamesE
banned
Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Fri Feb 09, 2007 6:05 am |
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| I don't agree with you all the time Adilegian but you're a really interesting person. |
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JamesE
banned
Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Fri Feb 09, 2007 6:30 am |
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| Predator Goose wrote: |
JamesE, Eric made some remarks about what he thought art was. That didn't agree with what you thought art was, so you made fun of him. That's called juvenile.
I understand that you don't want to spend the time to respond to everyone else's ideas, but if you end up having to explain yourself anyways, wouldn't it make it faster to explain up front, and make you look like less of a dick? Or find some one liners that don't sound like personal attacks so people don't feel the need to defend themselves? |
I presented a counterpoint and a quote from two pretty well regarded artists, with the intent of it generating some kind of intelligent rebuttal or modification of the initial stance. I don't usually put that amount of effort into responding to Aderack, because he seriously seems to think he has everything worked out definitively, innocent of things like constructed arguments or citations. His response was that he'd got it all worked out in the usual (seemingly) smug, arrogant, tone, which I usually find pretty objectionable. That's why I don't respond to aderack beyond one-liners, usually. I'll spell that out now so I don't get another snotty private message.
I mean... if anyone's going to work out art it's going to be a poet or a lover or a fighter, not a dude who gets paid to write long, citation and fact-check light rambling essays on Dr Who and jRPG installments, don't you think? The Livejournal he writes for his cat is utterly amazing art though, and I swear to christ I mean that when I say it.
(I'm serious about the Catjournal, Eric) |
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JamesE
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Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Fri Feb 09, 2007 6:31 am |
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Post needs more weird naked German cartoon people |
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JamesE
banned
Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Fri Feb 09, 2007 6:33 am |
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| Focus wrote: |
| Focus wrote: |
Hey guys I made a doodie.
 |
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JamesE
banned
Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Fri Feb 09, 2007 3:13 pm |
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| Eric-Jon Rössel Waugh wrote: |
| See. What you're missing or ignoring here is that it isn't that the work itself is art, it's that the work itself is a vessel for art -- in the same way that words aren't meaning; they convey meaning. |
One might as well try and claim that a sequence of DNA's endless replication is simply to serve as container for the human soul. There's a Keith Haring sculpture in Morocco, covered with bird shit. I've seen it with my own eyes. It's not some sort of crazy dualist receptacle for a dead man's thought forms, it's a funky dancing figure set in the grounds of Yves Saint Lauren's crazy blue house in Marrakech. The grounds, the city, the house and the bird shit all comprise my memory of the work. It doesn't have any kind of Telos or intrinsic, objective meaning waiting for wee Eric-Jon to come slouching along to tappy-tap at with his chisel-like thesaurus. Objectively, it is matter shaped to the whims of a man who died in 1990 which was covered with bird shit in Morrocco. Subjectively it is whatever the hell anyone wants it to be. I liked it a lot.
If art does convey only one true meaning then it is lost to mankind forever, even to your colossal onmi-mind. Keith Harring could only arrange matter then set it free to the world for the world to pass many judgments on. You can imitate his work but never perfectly - all he left behind was matter, photographs and interviews. They are his works, form indivisible from creative process. Warhol automated things a bit more, but the design is as important - if not much, much more so - than his original intent. Warhol wanted to make a lot of trinkets quickly. In Warhol's case a reproduction is as apt and good as the original because he intended it to be but it's the viewer's reaction to the phyiscal object that's important. Where's the meaning contained in a Warhol?
Wilfred Owen didn't sit in the trenches furiously radiating psychic thought-waves, he left an assemblage of words. We'll never truly be sure what they mean, because he could only ever explain them with more words and anyway, he's been dead 90 for years. The words he use restricted and empowered him, hence they are the art. A house is indivisible from it's bricks. Houses are art. So is dogshit on a New York pavement or birdshit on a Keith Haring in Morrocco.
| Quote: |
| See, the issue here is that I do have it worked out |
This is all I could physically bring myself to read of your post so far! |
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JamesE
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Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Fri Feb 09, 2007 7:03 pm |
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| Posting in legendary thread/in b4 axe |
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JamesE
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Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Fri Feb 09, 2007 7:07 pm |
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| that's probably because he's deadly serious |
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JamesE
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Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Sun Feb 11, 2007 5:36 pm |
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JamesE
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Joined: 05 Dec 2006
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| Posted: Sun Feb 11, 2007 7:08 pm |
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| Quote: |
| Not long ago, I asked the New Yorker's senior theatre critic, John Lahr, what he thought of videogames. They were, he said, "a sign of the nihilistic times". Julie Burchill disagreed. "They are too much fun to be art," she told me. Of course, as we know, videogames are a nihilistic waste of time, and they're fun, and they art, too. |
I'd like a game where I can punch Julie Burchill in the cunt. I will call it Hyper Juile Burchill Cuntpuncher Extreme 2020: The Final Fight.
Fucking loathe that insane cow |
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