Modern Art Sucks Part II

The Gates of Hell

On February 12 of this year, New York suffered its worst tragedy since September 11th.

On that day "The Gates" was completed and viewable to the public.

When viewing a work of modern art, I force myself to remember that art is like religion in that it is exceedingly difficult to define, which is why one person's cult is another's religion and why one person's spectacle is another's art. So while Tom Cruise and John Travolta, therefore, may rightfully claim that Scientology is an actual religion just as The Gates is a work of art, I cannot help but wonder how very different "the religion of Scientology" would be if the early adopters of said religion decided that L. Ron Hubbard's books were a bit too challenging and had instead decided upon Dr. Seuss as the lynchpin of their new spiritual awakening.

I can hear the sermon now (assuming said early adopters were also alcoholics)...

Their god is a clod.
An unrepetent fraud.
He makes them pay for sin.
We say, "hey, pass the gin."

To me The Gates is not art but a spectacle, and not an environmentally friendly one at that. It's best "seen" from the air, so people are chartering helicopters to "experience" what to my eyes looks like a ski run in Kiev. Air pollution. Noise pollution. Exactly what Central Park needs in greater quantities, right?

And while I can appreciate other's appreciation for it, just as I appreciate those who find value in Duchamp's Ready-Made urinals and snow shovels, I find Central Park a curious place to "create" this saffron spectacle, if one of the artists' motivating factors was not simply "publicity".

I'm reminded of the THE MOST PHOTOGRAPHED BARN IN AMERICA in DeLillo's "White Noise". Murray asked, "[w]hat was the barn like before it was photographed? What did it look like, how was it different from other barns, how was it similar to other barns? We can't answer these questions because we've read the signs, seen the people snapping the pictures. We can't get outside the aura. We're part of the aura. We're here, we're now."

Imagine The Gates in a park identical to Central Park in North Dakota. Without the fanfare. Without the spectacle. Without the hype. You happen upon it... a piece completed by a group of local high school students. Does that change it for you?

And while it is true that our perceptions are altered with respect to any work of art -- even a classic work of art -- about which there is some expectation, if you put the "Mona Lisa" in my bedroom, it would not fundamentally alter your appreciation for that work. Modern art, particularly spectacle art like The Gates, requires our expectations because (to my mind) its intrinsic aesthetic qualities are minimal.

Thankfully The Gates comes down on February 28. So while some will lament its short life in much the same way that some (happily no one I know) lamented the only 13-week run of "Cop Rock", I can only say that The Gates is a spectacle whose end, like February 28, cannot come too soon.

A Tuesday Morning Drive

What the hell are people thinking?

My mother is fond of saying "it's a full moon and all of the crazies were out today" after a day chock-full of lunatic (mental footnote: of course, the very word deriving from similar such theories) customers.

Not that I will often disagree with my mother (at least not in public; privately that's another matter), but I don't believe it matters if the moon is a full moon or a new moon (aside: why do we call a moon that is completely obscured a "new moon"? "No moon" or "Used moon" seems a more apt description) or waxing or waning (aside: admit it, discussing the phases of the moon instantly reminds you of "The Karate Kid").

Or maybe my mom is right, it's just that I think of incredibly stupid people as the "new crazy" (I don't mean that they are "obscured crazy people" rather I use "new" in the sense that pink is the new yellow. Stupidity is the new crazy).

Take, for example, Mr. Rusty Van. As many of you know, I have no affinity for bumper stickers. They are car tattoos. "Ross Perot in '92" may seem like a great idea at the time you affixed that sticker to your bumper -- just as "Mary Sue Forever" seemed like a great idea for a tattoo in '92 -- but as Sara, your wife in 2004, can attest, great ideas have a way of turning on you.

As dumb as Mr. Rusty Van may be, even he didn't stupidly proclaim his allegience to Ross Perot 9 or 13 years after the fact. Nor did Mr. Rusty Van have a Joe Hoeffel sticker on his car (outside of his immediate family, and even them I am not sure about, no one trumpetted their support for Joe on the back of their car).

No, Mr. Rusty Van instead sported a bumper sticker for a "24-hour Pet Burial Service". It's bad enough that I once saw a mini-van (the property of the presumptive owner of such burial service, I hope) with "24-hour Pet Burial Service" emblazoned on each side (yet another aside: now that I think about it, I sincerely hope that Mr. Rusty Van's "24-hour Pet Burial Service" bumper sticker is several years old. I shudder to think that this service is still in business). But Mr. Rusty Van is actually advertising for this service. A service that provides practically ZERO value.

As a starting point, who in the hell gets up at 2 in the morning, finds his pet dead, and says "we'd MUST bury him now"? Assuming for a minute a person suffering from OCD would make such a request, why would he need a service to do it? It's not like it's grandma that just croaked in the upstairs bedroom. This is a pet -- beloved, no doubt -- and we still find it socially acceptable (dare I say, we have a societal expectation) to bury our pets on our property (word of caution: it's only socially acceptable for serial killers to bury human relatives on their property).

I didn't have long to contemplate this thought, as I made my way south on I-79 to work this morning. Shortly after passing Mr. Rusty Van, I came upon Clueless Chick in Caravan sporting a "I'm Straight But Not Narrow" bumper sticker.

Maybe I'm the one that is demented or stupid for thinking about these things. But I have to admit to spending the next 10 minutes trying to figure out what could possibly possess someone to put that bumper sticker on his/her car. I'm guessing the store was all out of the "I'm a Raging Homophobe" bumper stickers, so Clueless Chick in Caravan purchased the next best thing.

I would have spent the next 15 minutes (not just 10) thinking about this and not figuring out an answer, but I drove past the Ass in the Audi, a few miles before my exit... still on the highway.

My suspicion is that the Ass in the Audi doesn't believe that talking on a cellphone while operating a motor vehicle makes one more susceptible to an auto accident. I suspect that not because the Ass in the Audi was talking on a cellphone. No, the Ass in the Audi would clearly consider such a feat too mundane, not challenging enough for his tastes. The Ass in the Audi found something more challenging (a.k.a. infinitely more dangerous for his fellow travelers). The Ass in the Audi decided that this morning was a perfect time to read the newspaper on his way to work. And he was not just glancing at the front page headlines. The Ass in the Audi had the entire paper open as if he was sitting at the diningroom table reading the Sunday paper over breakfast. The only difference here being, of course, that he was driving 75 mph down the highway. (aside: and yes, I did say I drove past him, but I still vehemently deny ever speeding. At least that's the story I have ready for any district justice that I may appear in front of)

Perhaps I missed it. Perhaps, like me, some young engineer at Audi found the tv show "Knight Rider" intriguing as a child. Perhaps, unlike me, this young engineer was in a position to build an Audi that, like K.I.T.T. from "Knight Rider", steered itself. Perhaps talking to the driver and saying such things as "what did the Post-Gazette have to say about Pitt's win last night?"

Perhaps... but I doubt it.

The Ass in the Audi, like the Clueless Chick in Caravan and Mr. Rusty Van, is simply the new crazy... which is to say... incredibly stupid.

Celebrating a Martyr

Holiday stupidity

As you all know, today we celebrate the death of a Roman who was martyred for refusing to give up Christianity. I'm sure that most of you are spending time giving thanks to this Roman who continued to marry people against the mandate of Emperor Claudius, who had wanted to ensure that the men of his empire had no attachment to loved ones so that he could send them off to war. Legend has it that on the day of his death, St. Valentine left a note to the daughter of his jailer expressing thanks for her friendship. (At least this last part explains the cards)

I guess one could plausibly say that on Valentine's Day we are remembering that a man gave his life so that others could experience the joys of matrimony. Except does anyone even remember that and is this at all tied to what people actually do on Valentine's Day?

No, in our typically American way we have turned an act of selflessness and decency into a day of "you'd better do something to show that you love me". And while some demented soul might think that picking a restaurant for his wife and him to eat at without her input is as dangerous as defying a Roman Emperor, picking the wrong restaurant or sending your loved one the Country Lovin' Bear instead of the Love Bandit typically does not lead to death.

But Valentine's Day is not unique in this way.

We all get a day off of work on "Labor Day", but people in the lumber and milling industry are all working on "Arbor Day".

There is also "Secretary's Day" on which we recognize secretaries for doing exactly what we have paid them to do. Oddly, to my knowledge, there isn't a "garbage man's day" on which we give praise to the men and women who take our bags of dirty diapers and banana peels away. No, we don't recognize this because THIS IS WHAT THEY ARE PAID TO DO!

Without question, however, the most ridiculous holiday in the world, which also happens to be my absolute favorite bar none, is the British holiday that takes place in the beginning of November -- Guy Fawkes Day.

Who is Guy Fawkes you ask and why is he celebrated? Well, he fought for the Spanish for over 10 years, which probably isn't a good reason for the English to honor him. No, Guy Fawkes is remembered for attempting to blow up Parliament as part of the Gunpower Plot. It seems odd to honor a man who was not only a traitor (last time I checked no one had successfully passed a Benedict Arnold Day here in the States) but an incompetent terrorist to boot. In his book "A Narrative on the Gunpower Plot", David Jardine described Fawkes as "a zealot, misled by misguided fanaticism, who was, however, by no means destitute of piety or humanity." (An aside to Mr. Jardine: when exactly was the last time you saw fanaticism properly guided?)

He's an incompetent zealot, but he's not completely devoid of humanity.

What a wonderful ringing endorsement for someone I want to name and celebrate a holiday after.

And the best part? How do you think the English pay tribute to this "great man" on Guy Fawkes Day? Of course by lighting bonfires and shooting off fireworks. Personally, I think they should celebrate the day by attempting to light bonfires and shooting off fireworks but failing miserably.

One can only imagine that if this form of English irony invades America, we will one day be celebrating "Osama Bin Laden Day", on which we will blow up the largest buildings in our towns.
As unbelievable and mind-numbingly impossible as that sounds, you'd be lying if part of you didn't think we were stupid enough to do it. After all, what do the selfless acts of a Roman priest have to do with your obligatory dinner date this evening?

Happy Valentine's Day.