She wants to convince the others that her filthy bed is art by telling us that this bed was what kept her alive. And thus, by words she wants to compensate her (simulated though) degenerate, filthy bed surrounded by tampons and alcohol on display in musea; to make it seem prettier than it is. Like telling to yourself that the form of your shit in the toilet, before flushing it, is originally shaped and has a beautiful history before it became actual shit; and by shitting it out it saved your life otherwise it would constipate resulting in pain and possible death - such a beautiful story of all the alive products of nature being prepared as food and consumed and taken partly by your body as vitamins and energy; and the other part resulted in your turd. Keep fooling yourselves, shit is shit; and by words you will only fool the fools.
But above all; so what that this bed kept her alive, what value has her life other than to intoxicate the minds not yet developed to learn to appreciate beauty even though political pressure suppressing their appreciation for beauty. Should one be delighted that she survived, is alive and achieved influence? - In contrary!
Hear this low quality mind parotting to others, and even more so, to herself, that she is an artist.. A chaotic bed surounded by tampons isn't art. Again the prove that the ugly bring forth ugliness; such an ugly face producing fArts out of her mind. A filthy, ex-alcoholic junk not giving inspiration through resisting the base impulses and overcoming them and thus being an example, but rather a continuation from one degenerate life-style to another, with the latter having a disgusting impact upon others through main-stream propagation of such inverted perspective on what is to be regarded as art; you cannot fool the instincts and cannot hide your low quality mind by appreciating such crap.
Gender : Posts : 2479 Join date : 2013-10-26 Age : 26 Location : Land of Dance and Song
If anybody finds a full version somewhere, please do share.
The extreme ugliness and sheer nastiness of this bullshit is nauseating. What, the fuck, is the message they're trying to convey? Is there a message?
I suppose that the part with ketchup bursting out of a vagina represents the difficulties of menstruation. First world women problems... Cherry popping is obvious.
In the second video, I assume the first one is imitating a blowjob, and how it's degrading to women? Then they proceed to scream and shout like apes, which is how they supposedly see males? The masturbation bit is obvious as well, making fun of male sexuality, shaming it. It's too fucking obvious from her movements the fat one never actually had any dick.
And the last bit, with them screeching, whining and crying , is how they react to me during an argument
EDIT: There is more of this on vimeo, link in the description of the first vid (can't post links for 7 days)
Gender : Posts : 2479 Join date : 2013-10-26 Age : 26 Location : Land of Dance and Song
Her art is too vulgar in Israel? She should come to Europe then, here she will be appreciated not only by like-minded people of the same genes, but actually by an audience consisting of European people who will applaud for her; unlike the Israëli audience - except her plays about the Holocoast, where she says that they can justify everything with the HC, that is forbidden here.
But what is the thing though, with J's and their fascination and excitement with poop; when she started talking about pooping it was as if she relived great childhood memories.
I once had the dis-pleasure of interviewing two of the head honchos in charge of a modern art gallery.
Trust me, they have no idea what their doing.
They thought the crap was gold and the gold was crap.
FOr instance, they thought the best art in the gallery was a picture of a flower.
The flower was nothing special, in fact, the emotions it gave were not even remarkable. It took little effort to create, as it was simply a photograph. There was nothing to even talk about, or laugh about with your friends. For example, a lot of modern art is crap, but its laughable, and worthy of talking about, like for instance vomit art or tire art. This, there was simply nothing at all remarkable of.
And yet, they praised it, because it had "good composition". It was a simple photograph of a flower, like a dime a dozen piece youd see hanging at a coffee bar as background noise.
Perhaps it is worth something, because it shows just how vapid, passive and unremarkable, modern culture is. A photograph of a flower...offering beauty, but only paper thick, with no depth or rewards, or satisfaction. Like the promise of beauty, but never actually delivering anything of worth or satiation. Like popping pills to cure an endless disease.
A old article, with the expected biases and omissions and distortions (McCarthy was largely right and exposed hundreds of communists in influential Governmental positions, the Rockefellers as agents of 'internationalist' cultural degeneration, the CIA link to the contrived drug-and-sex-fuelled 'culture' of the 1960's etc.) however I personally had not been aware of the direct connection.
Say farewell to all your preconceived notions about the beloved craft technique that is embroidery. The medium formerly associated with your lovely grandmother and sweet old neighbor has undergone a renaissance of sorts as young feminist artists conjure new ways to subvert the medium’s history of domesticity to tackle today’s most pertinent debates. Nowadays, there’s no subject matter too provocative to squeeze inside a wooden hoop.
Gender : Posts : 1148 Join date : 2015-08-27 Age : 28 Location : Finland
The first guide to the comic currents of Poe’s mummified anthropos is, unexpectedly, James Joyce’s Stephen Dedalus. In Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916), Stephen offers his theory of the aesthetics of tragedy. Though he agrees with Aristotle’s idea that tragedy raises terror and pity in the audience, he believes that the great philosopher did not sufficiently define these terms. Stephen first distinguishes between aesthetic and nonaesthetic pity and terror. Improper art and improper artistic feelings are kinetic.
Kinetic works spur desire and loathing. Setting these states into motion, kinetic art is not really art. It is either “pornographical or didactic,” inciting the urge “to posses” or the impulse “to abandon.” In this way, improper art participates in the limitations of the fall. It stokes the ego, inspiring it to struggle toward its yearnings or to avoid its aversions. Kinetic work also comforts the ego; it feeds it with the conventions that it expects—stereotypical objects of sensual desire, familiar forms of violence. Seducing the ego with abstractions, improper art alienates from lived experience.
Proper aesthetic events and proper aesthetic emotions are static. They arrest fear and desire. They disarm the abstractions that generate didacticism and pornography. Tragic pity does not evoke a desire toward a suffering object but “arrests the mind in the presence of whatsoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with the human sufferer.” The terror evoked by tragedy does not induce an aversion from the fearsome event. It “arrests the mind in the presence of whatsoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with the secret cause.” In elevating the beholder above fear and desire, static art pulls one away from the fallen ego and toward an unfallen self, an ideal human form untroubled by yearning or aversion—the anthropos. This kind of art shatters the ego’s fixations and reveals the abiding pain. Opening to what is constant, tragedy gestures toward the mysteries at the core of life.
Stephen develops these final points. Proper arts elevate the mind beyond fear and desire through their revelations of concrete resonances. What Stephen calls the “esthetic image” first strikes the mind as a “luminously” “selfbounded and selfcontained” event arising uniquely from “the immeasurable background of space and time.” It shines as this thing and nothing else. It is one whole. It possesses integritas. The mind follows the “immediate perception” of the synthetic whole with an “analysis of apprehension,” an attention to how the parts cohere into the whole, how the whole gathers the parts. The image now appears as a “complex,” a harmony of many and one. It manifests consonantia. After one has immediately perceived the image as one thing and mediately apprehended it as a consonance of whole and parts, one is finally struck by its shimmering claritas, its radiance as this thing and nothing else, its quidditas. Only this image, here, now, merges parts and whole in this way. The mind beholding this threefold beauty experiences “the luminous silent stasis of esthetic pleasure, a spiritual state... [an]enchantment of the heart.” This mind experiences gnosis, sudden insight into the ideal—the Eden, the anthropos, from which it has fallen away and toward which it returns.
--The Melancholy Android
When art seduces and coerces, it stands before nature, as God before gods, declaring himself above them, or their equal. The magic of the word, linguistic stimulation of the nervous system, tickling these forces, these deities, into action, as if one were their master. Seductive artist, priest of words, directs what is present, but believes he is animating frozen spirits, releasing static energies with his power over matter/energy. The ones being moved, believe it as well, having never experienced such forces - repressed, hidden, sensed only in intuition, and experienced as dreams, they put on their "public" face (character), as if it were their genuine one, and knew nothing of their private self (personae). Agitated by symbols, linguistic, sonar, lines arranged in shapes, the moved, the dancer, i convinced the other is a magician is moved to act - distancing himself form the act, so that he can deny it was he who is responsible. Like the inebriated blaming it on the magical effects of spirits, and the repressed one on his loss of control, prompting him to reveal more than he dared, on passion - the gods were blamed for those uncivilized, anti-social breaks from the hypocrisy of everyday. These days no explanation is given except that ti was the anger, the alcohol, as if the actions, expressions shared, with no controlling judgment, came from some magical realm, like the moderns do with more positive words they want to hold onto without justifying; love, respect, equality, humanity, the idea that race/sex are social fabrications, and many others. A moment's break from character, and the genuine personality comes out of its prison.
In the arts the distance between audience and actors offers that safety-zone to claim non-involvement. The audience sees themselves presented before them, in comedy and tragedy, but from a detached distance, offering them a choice: to accept or to deny.
Wilson, Erik wrote:
The loss of Aristotle’s poetics of comedy forms one of the great lacunae of Western aesthetics. One wonders what comic emotions parallel the tragic states, fear and pity. One further is curious over how Joyce’s Stephen would have revised Aristotle’s comic theory.
While one will never know what Aristotle or Stephen thought of comedy, one can guess that Aristotle’s comic emotions would share the same polarity of his tragic states, the same mix of repulsion and attraction, and one can speculate that Stephen’s theory of comedy would focus on arrest over motion, the constant over the ephemeral. If tragedy arouses loathing and pity, then comedy inspires joy and sorrow. That the comic generates the former state is obvious. Laughter is foremost the goal of comedy, unbridled joy over ridiculous mishaps and tender reunions. The latter condition, sorrow, seems to be at odds with the comic mode. However, all great comedies—those of Aristophanes or Shakespeare or even those of Howard Hawks or Woody Allen—are predicated on the idea that the world is always on the brink of chaos.
In the Dionysian world of comedy, these are the ruling principles, really nonprinciples: if something can go wrong, it will; anything can happen, and it usually does. Mistaken identities, accidents, slips of the tongue, misunderstandings, nervous plots: these are the elements of the comic world as much as happy endings. These troubling elements form the shaky ground from which blissful unions arise. The comic ending gains its joy from relief as much as from happiness—from “sorrow averted” as much as from “joy achieved.” Beyond pornography, the fulfillment of transient desire, and beyond didacticism, the satisfaction of brief aversion, proper comedy, like proper tragedy, is a mode of transcendence. If tragedy reveals what is constant in loathing and pity and empowers one to move beyond ephemeral versions of these states and apprehend the “secret cause,” then comedy shows what is ongoing in sorrow and joy and inspires one to transcend ephemeral instances of these conditions and likewise grasp the hidden origin of the cosmos. Both aesthetic modes, regardless of whether they explore suffering or happiness, open to a position untroubled by fear and desire. Doing so, these aesthetic forms disclose what is constant in beauty: integritas, consonantia, claritas.
This is the same sick cunt that was involved in the spirit cooking thing.
In order for an experiment like this to be real one would have to somehow give up all their rights and suspend all the legal consequences for those who would harm or even kill them. I strongly doubt that's what happened, it looks like staged, pretentious nonsense.
In any case, if she ever decides to do it for real I hope she does it somewhere near my place. I could then put my custom made machete to the test, see if it can decapitate in one strike or if I would have to strike multiple times to behead her. I wonder if she would stay true to her art and remain calm or begin screaming for help and demanding the experiment to stop. I'd bring my butcher knife too, just in case the machete proves ineffective. Don't have any desire to waste time playing around with her, just a swift decapitation to rid the world of her degenerate influence.
Autsider, I've seen hentai that could qualify as art, but that art just looks like generic gay porn. Honestly, gay porn disgusts me But at least it gives me a reaction, a reaction of disgust. You could argue that it's "art" because at least it gives me a reaction. Most of the modern art doesn't even give me a reaction, other than the reaction of feeling like my brain is oozing out of my head. Definition of art. "Art is a diverse range of human activities in creating visual, auditory or performing artifacts, expressing the author's imaginative or technical skill, intended to be appreciated for their beauty or emotional power." The emotional power is disgust.
Modern art has neither beauty, nor emotional power.
Also, I lol'd at them vandalizing the art, very funny lol.
I drove past a gallery of modern art today. It was very repetitive. No creative expression allowed. All the paintings were minor variations of each other. The display cases were all arranged in axis-aligned walls. Moderns "say" they are all about creative freedom but really it's "What I say goes" and they arbitrarily decide who gets to enter the gallery.
The gallery was basically this over and over, with a bunch of minor color swaps. I felt insulted they called it art, thought about vandalizing it but I didn't want to go to jail so I left it alone.
It seems like moderns are not victims of social oppression, Rather they are instigators of social oppression and some of the things they do go too far. I consider myself a nymphomaniac, but some of the Sexual inappropriate things moderns do in society bothers me and seems uncivilized, degenerate also. I want my own thoughts to be mine, and not be bombarded by gay porn in public. I was always like this. In middle school I had a high sex drive but I only liked talking about sex in private. All the rich kids at the school molested me and acted like a bunch of degenerates (ie. acted like niggers) constantly. And these were rich white kids and jews the so-called "high-class" of society.
Gender : Posts : 274 Join date : 2014-11-20 Age : 47 Location : Midwest
It is a artists vision liberated from the artists mind and then takes flight into the abyss.
It becomes an intimate conversation with it's receiver based on it's own merit sans intention.
You cannot force art. You paint a painting and you let it go live it's own life, where ever the road may take it. You create a vessel, not worrying about the hands that hold it or lips that sip from it. You are blind to the eyes that explore, the hands that touch, the ego that interprets or the critics perception.
Today's modern art movement is filled with intentions. It's ruined by schools, media and institutions. That's is what makes it categorically inferior.