Morons

I had a rather dispiriting meeting with my supervisor yesterday. Once again, they have nothing to offer me except obstruction.

The supervisor hadn't bothered to read the draft proposal I'd sent, and so pontificated off the top of their head instead. I won't go into the ins and outs of the entire conversation, but will highlight two particularly egregious examples.

I started by saying I've got a couple of shows lined up for this year, and I thought the timing fit in well. The response I got to this was the same as I'd had from the other supervisor. It is quite interesting.

Having shows outside of the institution isn't a good thing, apparently, but a problem. This is because dealers require 'safe, middle of the road' work, in complete contrast to the innovative, experimental work produced in the 'laboratory' conditions of the art school!!! These are real quotes, told to me with a straight face! Fucking incredible.

This is pure bigotry: treating an entire class of people as if they were indistinguishable stereotypes.

My experience – actual (though limited) experience not just knee-jerk prejudice founded on an intimidated fear of the unknown – is the complete opposite.

I have no constraints put on me on by dealers. I have had, and expect to continue to have, a free hand. I show what I like, how I like, and have been told that it's quite all right if there's quite major damage to walls etc as a result.

At school, however, there are a whole range of constraints. I've been told what I can and cannot do, because of academic requirements or ethics requirements or what have you, and even such a minor thing as including rude words in a wall drawing occasioned a warning sign at the entrance.

Herein lies the difference: your dealer answers to no-one but themselves, but your academic answers to a whole range of different committees.

Your innovative, experimental laboratory (such as it exists at all) is in the dealer galleries, not academic or public institutions.

But no, the fucking morons at Massey can't see that. Much easier to rely on lazy, complacent, self-serving received ideas instead.

I mean, fuck, if there was even the slightest bit of truth to their assertions, their end of year student shows would be evidence of it. Ha!

Ah fuck this, I was going to go on about the other really egregious comment – being told why having a knowledge of art history that informs your work is a bad thing(!!!) – but I can't be fucked.

Oh, and it was reported back to me that one of my assessors from last year was telling this year's PGDips how 'annoying' it was having me blog about them.

Here's a tip: you don't want me blogging about your really quite shocking limitations? Do something about them then. Stop being so intellectually narrow. Develop an open mind and some basic critical thinking skills. Actually be interested in art.

It's not that hard.

Best comment for a while

I'm at school in the middle of my crit right this very minute.

We're talking about this comment a lot:

No fuck you, you useless piece of shit whino art cunt. How exactly are you helping the fucking world out? By taking art at Massey? lol.
Eat shit in fire and die in a hail of frozen sewage you tiresome failbucket.

The intertemporal avant-garde is old fashioned anyway. :P

Picabia

The best anecdote in Dada in Paris is in a footnote.

Francis Picabia would ring up his friends, put on a fake voice, and tell them something like 'The game is up – your wife knows everything.' He'd then go visit them to observe their agitation.

What a cunt.

Time for some drunken abuse

Fucking hell, what are these stupid things we call social gatherings. I've just been to this literary opening thing at Robert's, and fuck it was weird.

These fucking word people. I shouldn't go on about them, because the art people are just as bad.

It's the only vaguely funny game in town, so what the fuck else are you going to do!?!

Fucking hell!!!

Cunts.

Only good game in town.

How else are you going to amuse yourself in this miserable existence?

Pictures beat words every single time.

Ans this is the date on which the TARDIS explodes.

Oh yeah

Speaking of the good modernist writers, here's a recent picture I'm quite pleased with:

Motherfucking cunts

Heh heh heh.

You think you can follow what's going on?

Losers.

Ha ha.

Gits and brilliance

Well, the last post got linked to the public address website by some arsehole (see the comments). That engendered a slightly amusing discussion, but I foolishly tried to engage with the cunts. The amusement paled. I asked for arguments. I asked for examples. Did I get them? Did I fuck.

I suppose it's just me that finds that site and its culture creepy?

I tried to be honest, up front, and non-contentious. I wanted a proper debate. Let's just say it was not my finest hour. That'll learn me.

And so one of the labels for this post refers to me, and the other to them. As I said in the comments to the previous post, I should have told the po-faced motherfuckers to fuck off. Ye gods, not my finest hour at all.

On the plus side, we've just had a great radio show from Rose and Michael (check out the amazing Futurist pic!). Michael, who I insisted on calling Malcolm through the evening (I'm hard work at the best of times), included a remix of a Popol Vuh track from the Aguirre soundtrack, so we watched that as visuals.

It's the best film ever. I remember when I first saw it, with Mr Stephen Rowe, at the Dunedin Film Society in 1993 or thereabouts. We jumped up and down in our seats in amazement. We were gobsmacked. Fuck, it's good.

A madman taking on the world? What's not to love?

I am the great traitor. There must be no other. Anyone who even thinks about deserting this mission will be cut up into 198 pieces. Those pieces will be stamped on until what is left can be used only to paint walls. Whoever takes one grain of corn or one drop of water more than his ration will be locked up for 155 years. If I, Aguirre, want the birds to drop dead from the trees, then the birds will drop dead from the trees. I am the wrath of god. The earth I pass will see me and tremble.

Brilliant.

However, even that is not the best line. The best line has to be the African slave, seeing a ship in the treetops: 'That is no ship. That is no forest. [Arrow hits him] That is no arrow. We just imagine the arrows because we fear them.'

If you haven't, you have to see it. Quotes do not do it justice. The river! The river!

Arseholes

What you are looking at here used to be a tribute to Ian Curtis and an important part of Wellington's heritage. I can remember when it first appeared. Considering all the changes to Wellington since the early 80s, it's been a nice bit of continuity.

It's been there (sort of) since soon after Curtis died, and some stupid cunt from the council has painted it over. Fucking petty officials and their narrow minds. They should be ashamed of themselves but no doubt lack the imagination to do so. Using my intertemporal avant-garde art powers, I have put a black magic curse on them.

If you look closely, you can see what was there: 'Ian Curtis 1960–1980 [sic] RIP Walk in silence'. It's even mentioned on Curtis's wikipedia page.

I am fairly confident it will reappear.

Groups are pissing me right off

Fuck I hate working with other people. For school, we've been told we have to do a collaborative group exhibition. This as part of our alleged self-directed studio paper. One of our group, when talking about our initial idea, got told that we weren't being collaborative enough. It's really putting me off school in general.

Apparently, we were told about this at the the start of the year, but I missed it, along with every other member of my class I've spoken to. But then communication and organisation are not exactly Massey's strong points.

Jesus fuck, I'm pissed off enough as it is with Can't Play Won't Play. I don't need this dictatorial bullshit as well. I really don't like working with other people, and I object to having it forced on me. I don't give a fuck if it's the latest academic fashion. And I really am not into jumping through hoops for jumping through fucking hoops' sake. Though the reaction of another member of the group's been usefully telling.

However, if I sabotage it, I'm doing in the other members of the group, which is a little unfair. But fucking hell, I'm tempted.

Cunts

Yeah, so the gig on Saturday was okay, but I'm annoyed with myself for organising it badly. I think most people enjoyed it, mostly. I got taken outside on the next day to be told in no uncertain terms how badly I'd organised it. I didn't enjoy that very much.

I've just been to a fourth year painting show. Only one of the other third years showed up. Pretty piss poor I reckon.

I've had my mark back for 40% of my studio paper. This is the paper that's half of a full-time course. I got a good mark and some amusing comments, including 'I am now CONVINCED that you use painting as a conduit or foil to other ideas. But have you exhausted the jokes on this?'

No, no I fucking haven't.