Say you’re in art school. There’s this guy and his friends, all untalented hacks, but they like to slap each other’s backs and exclaim how brilliant and creative they all are.
In general, quality abstract art takes a heck of a lot of ability to pull off well. A strong foundation in the basics, in lighting, perspective, color theory, anatomy — the better you know the rules, the more thoroughly (and skillfully) you can break them.
Now this guy, he doesn’t care about all that. He just knows that it looks a hell of a lot easier than realism. And besides, he might not be able to paint worth a damn, but he’s a brilliant creative guy, see, and abstract art would be just the way to show off his True Creative Burning Spirit without slogging through all the dirty work of actually learning how to handle a brush.
He sets out to build his masterpiece. He googles a bit, looks over a handful of Jackson Pollock pieces, eyeing the seemingly random cords and splatters of poured paint and color, the fame and notoriety of the artist, and says, I can do this.
And so he lays down his canvas, spread out across the floor, and begins. Instead of brushes and other tools, techniques for each that demand to be learned and mastered, he just flings colors wholesale from buckets, creating clashing and clumsy puddles that pool and seep into each other haphazardly.
And instead of paint, he uses shit.
That’s S. Darko.Filed under movies, reviews | Comments (2)