Where can I start.
Well, here is a picture of the Tate lights.
Well, here is a picture of the Tate lights.
Cool.
Now here's a picture of the first exibit I saw in the Biennial.
This is Haegue Yang's, and it looked colourful and fancy. And that's all I got from it.
As I explored the Biennial and tried my best to take it all in, I couldn't help but feel a lingering dissapointment. Not in the festival, as I wasn't in town long enough to appreciate it fully, and I'm sure it would have been great. But dissapointment in the art that hung on the walls and stood in the middle of busy rooms, art that I once loooked at and admired now is hollow and devoid of a point.
The more I research the more I find that the "Process" is the primary focus of art. I don't believe it should.
Michelangelo didn't mess about when he carved David out of his marble prison, and we didn't care about his thoughts as he made it, we care about the moment we see him, at the end of the corridor, the hairs on the back of our neck stand up and we understand.
Art makes you feel; joy, disgust, something. And I'm afraid I don't feel this art anymore.
I'm not saying this art has no value, but this search for the "process" has stripped the work of any point, any emotion.
I am an illustrator, I draw what's in my mind, but when I create I care about the end product, not about the proceess.
Perhaps it's just me, but the pretentiousness of modern works just makes me a bit sad.
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