The Hallmark Of The Minor Artist Is

Modernism Is The Protein Of Our Cultural Imagination.

When The War (wwi) Finally Ended It Was Necessary For Both Sides To Maintain, Indeed Even To Inflate, The Myth Of Sacrifice So That The Whole Affair Would Not Be Seen For What It Was: A Meaningless Waste Of Millions Of Lives. Logically, If The Flower Of Youth Had Been Cut Down In Flanders, The Survivors Were Not The Flower: The Dead Were Superior To The Traumatized Living. In This Way, The Virtual Destruction Of A Generation Further Increased The Distance Between The Old And The Young, Between The Official And The Unofficial.

An Ideal Museum Show Would Be A Mating Of Brideshead Revisited With House & Garden, Provoking Intense And Pleasurable Nostalgia For A Past That None Of Its Audience Has Had.

The Greater The Artist, The Greater The Doubt; Perfect Confidence Is Granted To The Less Talented As A Consolation Prize.

What Does One Prefer? An Art That Struggles To Change The Social Contract, But Fails? Or One That Seeks To Please And Amuse, And Succeeds?