New York critic Harold Rosenberg commenting on Avant Garde Art culture suggested that from the mid-1960s onward progressive culture ceased to fulfill its former adversarial role. Since then it has been flanked by what he called "avant-garde ghosts" to the one side, and a changing mass culture on the other, both of which it interacts with to varying degrees. This has seen culture become, in his words, "a profession one of whose aspects is the pretense of overthrowing it."


the knack

art wars


"no i don't give a shit about warhol

and oldenberg's really gone soft in the brain

now dali just wants to be cornholed

with one of those crutches he sold to man ray


yes calder was hung up on mobiles

and rauchenberg gives a particular pain

now art's just another distraction

like tv commercials that won't go away


bourgeois what's the deal

don't want no dada

no don't try to hand me no fantasy

it's for surreal


when your taste is confined to their palates

and their pictures are easily framed on your walls

did you ever consider the malice aforethought

contained in that trivial parcel of art


van gogh does a flip in his casket

rafaels and da vincis are moved down the hall

to make way for neimans and no ones

like rock and roll portraiture by guy pellaert


tell me what good is color on canvas

just who will it feed tell me who will it save

and do they expect us to stand this barrage

of collage and potage and potage st. germaine


the people who work for a living

don't need to ask questions from cradle to grave

they don't need di carlo to tell them

what's good and what's bad and what's really insane"


please take some time to learn about things wich interest you

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I become a transparent eyeball

by Ralf Waldo Emerson

from nature:

crossing a bare common, in snow puddles, at twilight, under a clouded sky, without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good fortune, i have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration.

i am glad to the brink of fear.

in the woods, too, a man casts off his years, as the snake his slough, and at what period soever of life is always a child.

in the woods is perpetual youth.

within these plantations of God, a decorum and sanctity reign, a perennial festival is dressed, and the guest sees not how he should tire of them in a thousand years.

in the wood, we return to the reason and faith.

there i feel that nothing can befall me in life,-no disgrace, no calamity (leaving me my eyes), which nature cannot repair.

standing on the bare ground,-my head bathed by the blithe air and uplifted into infinite space,-all mean egotism vanishes.


i become a transparent eyeball;

i am nothing;

i see all;the currents of the universal being circulate through me;i am part or parcel of god.


the name of the nearest friend sounds then foreign and accidental: to be brothers, to be acquaintances, master or servant, is then a trifle and a disturbance.

i am the lover of uncontainable and immoral beauty.

in the wilderness, i find something more dear and connate than in streets or villages.

in the tranquil landscape, and especially in the distant line of the horizon, man beholds somewhat as beautiful as his own nature.


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  • JoinedDecember 2007
  • Occupationmanagment
  • Hometownceicelton,md
  • Current city,_Maryland
  • Countryusa
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