(no subject)
DON'T DRINK AND DANCE
New Year's Eve
The Depot
Baltimore, MD
Lesson learned.
AND NOW, THE PHILOSOPHICAL AGE!
I originally posted this on my Myspace. It's brutally cut-and-pasting it for now because I should really get to work, like today.
THE END OF HISTORY IS NOW!
The apocalypse is exploding in my mind, right now, this moment, and it's all because of Arthur Danto.
(Oh blessed be, PHILOSOPHY!)
I've known for a while that the history of art ended with Duchamp. The line between art and reality had been obliterated- this didn't mean that nothing else would come from art, but that whatever else came is equally likely to be revered or pissed on.
This morning while drinking coffee before work I began to wonder about what line had been crossed historically, if any, and came upon this delicious epiphany: The line between fiction and reality, myth and actuality, has been obliterated. (It has been for a while but this is my 'coming to awareness' speech). The line was eliminated the moment someone sees an individual get shot in the chest and then testifies that 'it looked just like it does in the movies', or when slightly absent-minded people (such as myself) can't remember if it was their father who thought the lyrics to that Elton John song were "hold me closer tony danza" or some character on a sitcom.
We have memories of things that never really happened. We have imaginary friends in celebrities and politicians.
When the line was crossed in art history, the BEAUTY of art gave way to the PHILOSOPHY of art. So, I think, at this point, it is safe to say that:
THE PHILOSOPHICAL MOMENT HAS BEEN ATTAINED!
HISTORY HAS CEASED TO EXIST!
New Year's Eve
The Depot
Baltimore, MD
Lesson learned.
AND NOW, THE PHILOSOPHICAL AGE!
I originally posted this on my Myspace. It's brutally cut-and-pasting it for now because I should really get to work, like today.
THE END OF HISTORY IS NOW!
The apocalypse is exploding in my mind, right now, this moment, and it's all because of Arthur Danto.
(Oh blessed be, PHILOSOPHY!)
I've known for a while that the history of art ended with Duchamp. The line between art and reality had been obliterated- this didn't mean that nothing else would come from art, but that whatever else came is equally likely to be revered or pissed on.
This morning while drinking coffee before work I began to wonder about what line had been crossed historically, if any, and came upon this delicious epiphany: The line between fiction and reality, myth and actuality, has been obliterated. (It has been for a while but this is my 'coming to awareness' speech). The line was eliminated the moment someone sees an individual get shot in the chest and then testifies that 'it looked just like it does in the movies', or when slightly absent-minded people (such as myself) can't remember if it was their father who thought the lyrics to that Elton John song were "hold me closer tony danza" or some character on a sitcom.
We have memories of things that never really happened. We have imaginary friends in celebrities and politicians.
When the line was crossed in art history, the BEAUTY of art gave way to the PHILOSOPHY of art. So, I think, at this point, it is safe to say that:
THE PHILOSOPHICAL MOMENT HAS BEEN ATTAINED!
HISTORY HAS CEASED TO EXIST!