The art of ‘Bullshit’.

Anyone who is a regular reader of this blog will know that there are a couple of things that are guaranteed to raise my blood pressure. One is the antics of our so called ‘royals’ and the other is the ‘artistic’ event know as the ’Turner Prize’.

OK, I’m not too concerned about idiots giving away money to crafty untalented con-artists, but it’s the way that these same idiot ‘art experts’ try to justify piles of crap (literally in some cases) as works of art that really infuriates me.

One of this year’s top entries consists of the sweepings from ’artist’ Rebecca Warren’s studio floor and the road outside, and although they can in no way compare to Tracey Emin’s ‘My Bed’ of 1999 (with it’s stained sheets, dirty underware and used condoms), curator Lizzie Carey-Thomas, says “Despite the abject nature of the material, and the fact it is rubbish, there is a mini-drama going on. The objects are active within the box itself. They have emotional and associative resonance, and can communicate meaning“. I wonder if she is the same silly cow curator who hailed last year’s prize winning ’shed’ as “poetic . . . a buttress against the pressures of modernity, mass production and global capitalism”.

There is one painter, Tomma Abts,  on this year’s short-list who’s paintings are described by Rachel Campbell-Johnson of ‘The Times’ as … “based on nothing in the real world. Rather, they grow through some painstakingly rigorous process of organic accretion to construct quasi-geometrical patterns that mimic nothing you know of but are increasingly intriguing for the way that they work, for the way that they trap an unsettling sense of movement or play with unexpected visual illusions and spatial relationships”.

I suppose that if you spend your life looking at displays of shit as these two ‘hyphenated’ women do, then  …

……     you end up by talking out of your arse.