“Art is a
fetish. As this is so, so mystification becomes part of the concept of art…art
is nothing over and above what the bourgeoisie classifies as art, that is its
meaning, but, from inside the category, such a thought is intolerable because
it dismantles the beliefs that go with entering into the activities of the
category. These beliefs posit the objective superiority of the form of life
which is implicated. It is out of this sort of logical mystification that the
category art emerged in the first place, that is, as an attempt on the part of
the old order in society to make out its life was somehow committed to a
superior form of knowledge.”
Roger L.
Taylor
One reason
this blog proceeds so slowly is that over the last two winters I foolishly got involved
in a society which produces major Works of Art, as small town tradition
dictates these can never be undertaken between Easter and August Bank Holiday.
Thankfully, this winter’s work is now done and I am free until at least
September, though in all fairness I can blame no-one but myself for the pain.
Art, as Mr
Crisp often demonstrated, is a mistake. His writing is full of mischievous demolitions
of art students and their tutors. He dismissed theatre as something for bored
upper middle class women over a certain age. When asked what he had against
painting, he asked in return what painters have against bare walls.
And he was
right. Because nobody should waste a cold winter’s night on Art if they could
be snug and warm in front of a TV screen, reading a funny book…. or just staring at a
wall.
But
colluding with others in a small, conservative community to produce Art is a
far graver error. While a sane and reasonable person never commits Art in the
first place, any mild mannered person who is only slightly insane can be driven
to strong drink and mind-bending pharmaceuticals from over exposure to the upper middle
class harridans who dominate such activity.
So what is
my excuse?
Well, for
one thing - as readers of this and my other blog may have surmised - I have previous
form for Artistic Behaviour.
I started very
early. Aged 10, my first literary efforts were published in an educational
journal by a proud class teacher, and only the relative poverty of my parents
prevented me from incarceration at a prestigious cathedral choir school for my
entire adolescence. I was a semi-professional musician by 13, and things got
worse in my 16th year, when I was sentenced to two years in the
musical equivalent of a young offenders centre. I then tried to go straight,
and did manage around three years of useful employment as a nurse, with only
minor involvement in the local folk and punk scene.
Then things
got right out of hand. In fact, between 1979 and 1983 it is a matter of public
record that I was involved in creative activities for which the governments of
three countries were bamboozled into parting with sufficient monies to, say,
build a few decent blocks of flats instead.
On this
basis alone I cannot hide the fact that I once had an arts career, rather than just
dabbling at weekends and in a manner which damaged only my own sanity and bank
balance.
In my
defence, I stopped on principle at 25, believing then - as now - that no
‘Artist’ has the right to live off public money for more than five years. Being
idle by nature, and having achieved everything I set out to in four, I could just give the public a year off. I then retired to the Isle of
Man , having ascertained that the local Art ‘scene’ was so far
behind even middle of the road international trends that I could never be
interested – or raise interest – in continuing.
That was in
1983, and funnily enough nothing has moved on here, while the surrounding
islands have regressed rather than moved forward, so at absolutely no point
have I weakened.
Until two
winters ago, when a very young relative wanted to try something new, so the
family joined up in support. Wisely, she retired herself four months later, and
now only goes to watch her elders struggle.
Struggling
with the work itself would be fine, as any challenge which draws one out of a
small town comfort zone is beneficial. The problem is that the real struggle is
a class one.
Urban folk may smile at the rigid social structure of the small
town cultural group. In reality though, the lower orders in large towns and
cities suffer exactly the same diminution of their imaginative efforts. Expensive
education did not make their critics even moderately clever. They just fail to
understand a wider range of creative product.
By
comparison, there may be awful social conservatism in small towns, but if you
are creative and from a humble background you have the advantage that all you
have to overcome are a few rednecks posing as highbrow ‘experts’.
As for the
‘High Art/Low Art’ false divide – how can anyone argue that High Art should be
taken seriously when you see the kind of middle class conformists who not only
consume it but are able to earn a living from it? How can Low Art be taken any
more seriously when it depends on a system of patronage, criticism and
consumption determined as absolutely as High Art by the very same bunch of
cultural elitists and careerists?
In conclusion
then, if you must dabble in ‘The Arts’ there are only two questions to consider.
(1) Is it
an interesting challenge?
(2) Will
you add to the sum of global joy by taking part?
If you can
truthfully answer “Yes” to both you might as well waste your time. If you
answer “No” to either, but still continue to make anything which could be
construed by even a passing lunatic as ‘Art’, you should be hunted down with
dogs.
The rest is
nonsense.
