Once art crosses a certain threshold (time wise) I lose all interest and check-out. Frankly, I don't care about art that looks like it should be illustrating the nightmares of the Mighty Boosh.
Actually, I'd prefer it in there, I'm sure Noel Fielding could make Karl Appel's Questioning Children into something both starkly disturbing and yet remarkably mesmerising. A bit like Old Gregg, or driving past a car wreck.
Don't act so shocked, you know you lean out your window when you go past one.
I've been drifting in and out of the lecture (mentally) and the key words thus far are: 'crude', 'strange', 'roughly', and 'tangled'.
Great. I love shit like this - exactly like I love a case of athlete's foot.
There is always the possibility that someone could get Contemporary Art Bird to effuse passionately about the intrinsic qualities and importance of this movement on 'emergent' art ('contemporary' is so last season, darling). The only problem with that scenario is Contemporary Art Bird is a struggle to silence (in a polite and timely fashion).
Glancing back up at the screen, I just want to shout, 'What the hell is that?! Is that a nematode with a human skeleton as drawn by a 6-year old?'
The slide changes and I am happy. Elburg's The Classy Whore comes up. It almost looks like Dick Cheney meets Titian.
Brilliant. Ab-so-fucking-lutely brilliant. Let's end the lecture on a high note, Professor.
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