Those were the days! On the downside, I had serious food poisoning. But it was worth it. No bleeding from the head though, so my court of miracles was incomplete.
The letter is framed as a resignation, a closing of the books after decades of labor, but what it reveals — perhaps in spite of itself — is less an ending than another iteration of performance. In his supposed departure, the critic can't resist staging one final exhibition of his own: himself, the weary figure who dons the crown of thorns, bleeds onto the gallery floor, and transfigures his wound into commentary.
I really enjoyed this story. I liked how the critic—so fixated on his disgust of the art scene he no longer feels a part of—can’t see what’s happening right in front of him. The Death of the Artists may not have been “good art,” but it was a hell of a lot more interesting than his letter to Gene suggested.
Very cool piece, Sam. A small thought: in suggesting that the "artist" has in fact hanged himself and the critic did not see what was in fact a body, you undercut the insights of the critic/protagonist, which I took to be the polemical point of the piece . . .
Anyway, I'm noodling a piece about losing contact with abstract expressionism . . . this is a long story. As you know. And I have relatives who paint for a living, and plus AI and what do images mean, etc., etc. Keep up this thread, please.
This is nicely written but also - and maybe this is a little presumptuous of me to say because I don't even really have any direct experience with the New York art world at all, and instead know other cities and what happens online and what various nonprofits have been up to - it feels to me like it takes place in the late 90s, despite the line about the third decade of the twenty first century.
I hate to be another critic on top of the author criticizing the critic who's criticizing the purportedly critical but uninspired artist, but a more cutting and timely version of this would involve an exhibit filled with uninspired, hackneyed (maybe even Orwellian) art accompanied by nonsensical, abstract, self-righteous commentary about indigeneity, queerness, racism, colonialism, etc., because that's what the wealthy liberal patrons have been mostly supporting through the nonprofits for years now - it's a nice way to pretend you're reliving the civil rights movement while you're actually doing something else entirely and helps assuage the guilt that comes along with ones own privilege without fundamentally changing anything about how stratified (mostly along class lines) and dysfunctional our society has become; hell, it even helps keep the masses more divided than they were before! It also works exceptionally well for "artists" who care more about accumulating clout and money while pretending to heroically save the world than about actually doing anything interesting or genuinely challenging with what they create.
Maybe at the end we'd find out that the 36 year old critic doesn't really have anything to say himself, and that he's been getting by on Thielbucks, just another pawn of a tech billionaire, that even the Dimes Square scene didn't have much to offer beyond simply not being what the mainstream art world has largely become.
Or something (is the Thielbucks rumor even true, or was it pretty much just that one-off anti-woke film festival?). I enjoyed reading it anyway.
What we really need is some space for inspired people to create new things, but good luck getting that sort of thing to proliferate broadly in this kind of economy and culture.
I grew up in the South, based in Atlanta but also Alabama and NC, and I don't think "anyways" comes from those places. I actually associate with Western NY but could be corrected.
I really love this piece, thank you for the laughs!
Now I realize me harassing George Plimpton half-naked and vomiting at CBGB'S in 2003 was the last time New York saw a real Puke Christ.
Damn, good times! Making us jealous.
Those were the days! On the downside, I had serious food poisoning. But it was worth it. No bleeding from the head though, so my court of miracles was incomplete.
The letter is framed as a resignation, a closing of the books after decades of labor, but what it reveals — perhaps in spite of itself — is less an ending than another iteration of performance. In his supposed departure, the critic can't resist staging one final exhibition of his own: himself, the weary figure who dons the crown of thorns, bleeds onto the gallery floor, and transfigures his wound into commentary.
Exactly! Well put Gary
I really enjoyed this story. I liked how the critic—so fixated on his disgust of the art scene he no longer feels a part of—can’t see what’s happening right in front of him. The Death of the Artists may not have been “good art,” but it was a hell of a lot more interesting than his letter to Gene suggested.
Love this story. As a former art critic with an MFA in painting from Philly, I find so much truth in it.
Reminds me of Gaddis’ work; I mean the writing.
And it made me smile.
Very cool piece, Sam. A small thought: in suggesting that the "artist" has in fact hanged himself and the critic did not see what was in fact a body, you undercut the insights of the critic/protagonist, which I took to be the polemical point of the piece . . .
Anyway, I'm noodling a piece about losing contact with abstract expressionism . . . this is a long story. As you know. And I have relatives who paint for a living, and plus AI and what do images mean, etc., etc. Keep up this thread, please.
This is nicely written but also - and maybe this is a little presumptuous of me to say because I don't even really have any direct experience with the New York art world at all, and instead know other cities and what happens online and what various nonprofits have been up to - it feels to me like it takes place in the late 90s, despite the line about the third decade of the twenty first century.
I hate to be another critic on top of the author criticizing the critic who's criticizing the purportedly critical but uninspired artist, but a more cutting and timely version of this would involve an exhibit filled with uninspired, hackneyed (maybe even Orwellian) art accompanied by nonsensical, abstract, self-righteous commentary about indigeneity, queerness, racism, colonialism, etc., because that's what the wealthy liberal patrons have been mostly supporting through the nonprofits for years now - it's a nice way to pretend you're reliving the civil rights movement while you're actually doing something else entirely and helps assuage the guilt that comes along with ones own privilege without fundamentally changing anything about how stratified (mostly along class lines) and dysfunctional our society has become; hell, it even helps keep the masses more divided than they were before! It also works exceptionally well for "artists" who care more about accumulating clout and money while pretending to heroically save the world than about actually doing anything interesting or genuinely challenging with what they create.
Maybe at the end we'd find out that the 36 year old critic doesn't really have anything to say himself, and that he's been getting by on Thielbucks, just another pawn of a tech billionaire, that even the Dimes Square scene didn't have much to offer beyond simply not being what the mainstream art world has largely become.
Or something (is the Thielbucks rumor even true, or was it pretty much just that one-off anti-woke film festival?). I enjoyed reading it anyway.
What we really need is some space for inspired people to create new things, but good luck getting that sort of thing to proliferate broadly in this kind of economy and culture.
https://open.substack.com/pub/cinematimshel/p/ideologically-out-of-line-and-insufficiently?
The character would never say “anyways.” It was always “anyway” until young people started to bring Southernisms” to NYC.
I grew up in the South, based in Atlanta but also Alabama and NC, and I don't think "anyways" comes from those places. I actually associate with Western NY but could be corrected.