The one book it seems almost everyone agreed was worth keeping. The Arnason. A while ago I picked it up. Ran through it’s pages. And stopped. In disgust. The phrase which began with ‘I saw the best minds of my generation, destroyed’ suddenly seemed to ought to stop at that particular point. Some sad excuse for an anti-artist got to it. Vulgarized it. Leaving an ashen shroud of artistic vandalization on MY treasured pages. MY memories of Art history classes during the late nineties. Trashed. Debased. Simply sad.
Stumbling over the rocks. Ruins barely recognizable. Scrambling for peaces. Recalling, recall, recollection on hold. Took some pictures. Took some time. Be puzzled by the images below.
Anyone in for IP litigation? Let’s go through this set. Right, below. Max Pechstein, Somali dancers. Really? Next. On the left. Salvador Dali. Cannot imagine that one being into hairless males. And whatever happened to his surrealism? Rather dull, not? Collection FRAC de Bourgogne must be surreal in name only. This morbid greyscale is fading as is. So is 1984, this image would simply shame Orwell. Irrelevant. A suggestion for the vandal of my Art-lit. Visit http://www.kmm.nl/collection