Wednesday, January 17, 2007

NP:Gojira-Flying Whales

Art is perhaps the one thing that makes life worth living, but I hate fucking artists with a white-hot passion. Perhaps that should be amended to say that I forgive abhorrent behavior when genuine talent is involved, but on this one issue, I’ll risk a hasty generalization. So-called “creative people” make me absolutely ill, and no, not just because I myself lack any perceivable talent. As a group, artists detach themselves from the world, despite claiming to speak to deeper, more significant issues. What they really mean is that THEIR problems, THEIR issues, and THEIR pain are assumed to be shared by the world, and they equate autobiography with sociology or even history, when it would be best described as simple vanity. True artists work outside the self, even if the view on display is based largely on subjective experience. Still, haven’t we all met some deluded creep who wanted to take his home movies and present them to the world as some sort of creative act?

- from Matt Cale's review of Rent @


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