Unless you suffered a major stroke you should be able to summon enough inspiration to paint something other than a bowl of decomposing apples and decaying oranges. No, even if you immortalize bananas with cream and a cherry on top it won’t matter. It’s lame, lazy and lackluster and that makes you a LLL uncool gay, which is not a thing to rap about. You have no excuse wasting paint and canvas on things meant to be touched, smelled and tasted. We sense nothing. Nothing! Well, unless you paint with raspberry syrup on chocolate canvas. We’d dig that. With spoons.
|I'm not boooring, I'm not boooring!|
Without all the screaming, crying and defecating, those precious sugar-buns lose all their allure. We do understand that exactly your child is the epitome of beauty and the avatar of goodlookingness. You are blessed. We are annoyed. And anyway, you should be tending to its diapers and photographing him for your new Facebook profile pic. Meanwhile, in the real world, everyone will agree your heir is nothing special. Nothing! And put some clothes on it please. There are children around.
|The artist in the future known as Prick.|
Okay, so you’ve been imprisoned in your atelier for too long and inhaling paint fumes and staring at the hauntingly blank canvas is starting to take its toll. Chairs and armoires start to look majestic. That’s your next bestseller! Uhm... not. Even seeing modern and truly originally designed furniture in real life is at most a short oh-that’s-cool-moving-along moment. No amount of fiddling with the abstract and transformation can make those shelves look interesting. We even hold a grudge against Dalí on this one. You can't make a pie from manure. Well, you can, but then you'd have, well, your painting. Even if you paint your wrinkled grandma in her masterfully crafted rocking chair we will experience nothing. Nothing! Just ask grandma to bake you a pie. See what flavor you get.
|Miraculously, IKEA doesn't stand for|
Impressive Kickassy Extraordinary Art!
It’s hard to really know yourself. Having a distinctively artistic mind is also not helping. But that can’t hinder you from splashing your sickeningly unobjective view of yours truliest onto the canvas. You apply all the undereducated tricks to transfer your emotions and torments of the soul via every line on your self-obsessed face. And still it remains just a face. And not a pretty one. We stare down your eyes and into your soul and find nothing of importance or interest. Nothing! Well done if you wanted to scream to the world “I’m boring”, but ironically – that’s boring. Next time add a hatchet in your forehead. Or a rope around your neck. Amuse us commoners, oh beautiful and divine you! Just remember: A self-portrait is not a sell-portrait.
That canvas containing only one blue uncentered dot or a single line adorning your masterpiece in purposely imperfect golden ratio is the result of a long and hard process of transferring your unorthodox philosophical views via symbolism onto canvas. Surprise – we see nothing. Nothing! How would you like a minimalistic football game report: “Victory. End.” Or a weather forecast: “So-so. Mostly. End.” We won’t use our imagination if you refuse to do the same. If you don’t give - we don’t give. A crap. End.
|In your face, Degas!!!|