it could be Rothko too, or Jeff Koons, Andres Serrano, Keith Haring, Marcel Duchamp, Carolee Schneemann, Yoko Ono, Santiago Sierra, Damien Hirst, Tracey Emin... it doesn't have to be Barnett Newman. he has many analogs.

Black in Deep Red by Mark Rothko

it's always puzzling seeing ugly streaks of nescience, learned or purposefully evaded, in regard to past and contemporary art. "i could do this" point those who feel the need. so?

i'm sure it's ego.

actually, i'm not certain. i don't think i can ever reach in and uncover what makes someone come to some blanket assumption, of technique, of emotion, of meaning, or of anything to do with the process of creation, that they find lacking. pedestrian. flat. unimaginative. degenerate.

surely they too can understand there's more to it than just red, yellow, and blue, right? if not an unknown, never-replicable recipe, if not some immediate connecting of the dots to a field of red and an artist's familial history fleeing authoritarianism, if not the temerity to think that that statement of intent, in work, deserves a place next to—arguably—easily explainable and much more highly regarded pieces, what is it? what am i missing in this immediate distrust, hatred of some person's life put into their work?

obviously there are examples of 'bad' art, art that is self-evidently steeped in placid imitation over real personal substance, of art for its own sake, or any number of purposeful avoidances to create meaning since there isn't any past the monetary. but the lines are so blurry. can you blame the up-and-comer who has few paths forward other than accepting their work being scooped up for high bid instead of for what's inside? is there a difference if they continue fighting for their value, or give in and make it their job? how can you ever tell, assuredly, that that was even the case, that it was an innocent, last sensible choice to make, and that it wasn't some grand evasion for financial enrichment? even if they tell you directly... what's to say that statement isn't yet another part of it?

of course it's the unknown. it always is, it's always what scares us most. that sinking feeling that there must be another something, but there's no pointers leading you to where it is—or isn't.

what 'art' is doesn't even matter; everything humans do with intent is art. there is no barrier to what makes art—some is subjectively bad, but that doesn't make it not art. if anything, knowing that so many think so poorly to call something 'not art' is just another blanket of comfort, that what it meant was so outside of conceptions that it didn't even register. it may not be new, but it's transgressive or has some place at the barest. bad art isn't an indictment, it's a rejection of (para)social connection.

that's a lot of the challenge with what i'm trying to reach at on this website. what's the point of going through the steps it took in creation, for any medium, when nothing in its substance gives you that breeze of life? that breeze comes from the conscious, and 'good' art always has its creator's/s' spirit(s) emanating. and too quickly, so many who fall, unsighted, into the same criticism, dismiss the substance as the message, not a throughway.

how can you dismiss something you haven't yet heard ring out? you haven't even let it inside. you're bound to feel that kindred if you two mesh well; it'll find you if it's there.

written 13 dec 2024