It used to be a regular of mine, but it’s a couple of years since I last saw it. I think I’ve changed a bit in that time. Or maybe the arts world has changed, because I found it largely drab, predictable, cliché-ridden, self-congratulatory, pretentious, and even politically correct in that alter-establishment sort of way that the art world has claimed for its own.
Are there no Dylan Thomases any more? No James Joyces? Are there no tortured souls starving in garrets and holding up mirrors to the world, whilst consigning themselves to premature demise through drink and drugs because it’s the only way they know how to stay sane enough to keep the mirror aloft?
What’s happened to the Romance, the unavoidable sacrifice? It’s all so prissy and comfortable now. It’s all about being far out for far out’s sake, and then being lauded into trendy celebrity on the steed of fawning and overblown congratulation. It’s a world of wine bars, riverside apartments and designer spectacles. Or so the BBC would have us believe.
The only bit I enjoyed was the feature on Alisdair Grey, the Glaswegian writer and painter. That might be because I knew his ex-wife and their son for several years, or it might be because he recognised when his ego was showing and wasn’t afraid to admit it.
2 comments:
All of the romance and emotional drives and tortured souls have been traded for politics, intellects, artists-only clubs, and the bourgeoisie =[
I get to see it, and butt heads with it, every day; it's a grand ol' party.
I suspect you're in for an interesting life, McC. I suspect it won't always be comfortable, but I bet you clash heads well. Pisces/Aries + Gaelic fire! Gosh. I hope you get the support you deserve, which I further suspect you will.
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