A few weeks ago i had to travel to Portsmouth at my own expense, waste a whole day waiting around in an awful tower block of offices just for the privilege of getting fired. It wasn’t the getting fired that really got me because i truly loathed the job i was in, and so despite the set backs it has since caused i was relieved. What did get me, was when i was sat on their perfect faux leather sofa, hundreds of feet up, in an air conditioned box, surrounded by meaningless pieces of ‘art’ behind frames probably more expensive than the piece itself was the people that inhabit this space and what this space meant.
The droids walk back and forth these halls all day chatting figures or gossiping about their colleagues completely oblivious to their surroundings, the ‘art’ on the walls, it means nothing it barley serves as decoration because its more about what is says, the frame and most importantly the price. All of these pieces of art hidden away just covering up blank spaces because it presents an image of human feeling and success. What i presents to me is a vast flavourless void in which the word art is soiled. The people who bought this ‘art’ probably flicked through a catalogue pointed their finger and quoted numbers to their secretary, Where is the humanity there? And the people who produced it? They most likely did the same thing, flicked through a bunch of pictures from corporate artists pointed at the ‘best ones’ and quoted the numbers to another secretary who sent them off the get mass produced and sold to anyone empty enough to want to purchase them.
The word art seems to mean nothing to most of these people but ironically most of these people are the only ones who can afford real art, it begs the question to stay true and unsuccessful or false and successful? .. .. … . .. … . . . . . … I’m pretty sure i know the answer.
‘Corporate Arse’ Acrylic and Collage on Crate lid behind Perspex