bad news calls for Ugly Babies!

I laugh more than I ever have these days at what a mess we've made are making of things. It was in such a mood today that I had a conversation with an artist working on a painting of an 8 foot baby (it's hysterical) and a friend who was wondering why her genitalia made some assume she wanted to talk about babies (it's horribly true), and so that must have been in the back of my mind when searching for something to make me laugh this afternoon, I went to ...

UGLY RENAISSANCE BABIES

I first discovered this in grad school years ago but ah, how it makes me laugh. Of course, having been introduced to the concept, I have ever since wandered great cathedrals of art snickering and snapping pics of the ugly Renaissance (and yes, other periods...it's definitely not only Renaissance for you sticklers out there) babies that I find. It's so wonderful that great artists made such hideous mini-peeps and that random and unknown artists decided they had better things to do then get the baby right. Contrary to the bar's claim in Williamsburg, Baby's (not) All Right.

I could now wander along New Aesthetics and the impact of digital visualizations IRL... I've been there, it's fascinating, but not for today. Today, go look at ugly renaissance babies, or your "friend"'s recent posts of their spawn on social media (anyone else actually considered not following someone because you just acn't handle how unattractive their child(ren) is? No? Oh okay). Or, for something easier to share with those near and dear...Ugly Renaissance Cats.

I guess the lesson of the day is the world has been ugly for a few centuries.

The Penultimate Supper

Ah, Monty Python. Still good all these years.
Watched Life of Brian recently, which really everyone should go watch right now (or Black Books, my other favorite UK show) but this is a great if you want to imagine Renaissance commissioning arguments: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9Aj7W3g1qo
(No, Michelangelo did not paint The Last Supper. If he had, it might have lasted!)

Speaking of commissions, why do they have such a bad rap in the art world. If we are really over the whole notion of genius (clearly we are not) and (pick your least favorite artist to put here) has convinced us that artists can certainly be money-grubbing like the rest of society, then why are commissions so declassé? Does anyone believe that artists don't take the pulse of the times when they select works for a show? There's still plenty of aesthetic freedom to be had in commissions. (Unless it is a portrait of children, in which case bless the poor artist who has to suffer through that experience with the hovering mother anxiously awaiting to observe her child's newfound beauty.)

I guess to Michelangelo's point in the skit, the penultimate supper is more fun to think about. Too much already determined about the Last Supper. Unless constraints are your thing, it'd be much more fun to create the Penultimate Supper. In fact, someone out there...please do.

Is that all there is?

Hi. I'm back. Kind of. Maybe. Am I here, was I ever?
I get existential sometimes.

So, grad school is over, I have the tenure job, and though I write, profess, and conference about art theory a whole lot these days, somehow I still don't think of myself as a critic. I'm more inclined to talk with artists about their work, in studio visits, over dinners, or just randomly. I like to think about art in relation to ideas, connecting recent and ancient commentary to the visual artefact. Plenty of people are correct in arguing with me that good criticism does these things. They are right. But this blog divests itself of such status. Let's call these musings on art, visual culture, life, the absurd, and whatever else strikes my fancy.

Time takes its toll on life and death came to Wooster, who died a couple years ago. The avatar pick doesn't work as well anymore. Now I am the loving caretaker of Izzy Marmalade, the Sweetest Existentialist Cat, also known as Don von BonBon, or Steve, who is a very charmingly sized orange fur mush. Death. Life. Like writing. It comes and goes. It dominates and then doesn't.

I'm not promising much here. I'm hoping to keep posting thoughts here mostly because I get randomly enthusiastic about seemingly depressing topics (I am told) and my friends don't necessarily want to hear about it. I see the whole world smoldering and think...is that all there is?