when i hear something opulently intellectual;
that cradles my intrigue, humbly, and lays me down
floundering in its greatness,
i trust my head to remember it
i don't write it down
if it has hit my head hard enough, i would hope it would have cracked my skull and stuck itself in there
confidently
comfortably

recently; not not recently;

always

i was thinking about how

i hate art ; or at least most things to do with it
most art is bad
most artists are bad
the art world of selling art is bad

and then there are the good artists
the good art

neglected by art historians who are seduced by tortuous biographies, who like easy thinking, who like gaping at the colour composition and commenting on how

splendid it is

i want it hard
hard thinking
looking at a picture without the world around it
without it's plaque
i want it hard
not easy
hard

everyone is like a reader of philosophy
who doesn't understand anything
anymore
but tells everyone they have read Nietzsche
because then they are an intellectual

pseudo-art-appreciation grasps the middle aged upper class London woman as brutishly as she pretends every painting she sees grasps her ( bulging ) eyes.

she's never frustrated at the art world.

everything's beautiful. everything's so complex and interesting. and she knows it all, as it's handed to her on a platter of the backs of historians, a platter she grasps behind her back as she turns to the common folk and sings her luxuriously bourgeoisie song of intelligence!

do they not understand they are neglecting those works of art?

they are abusing them in their willingness to be  beguiled by everything except the intrinsically intangible art in the art itself. they will never understand it all. they are not artists.

they do not know the pain that easy thinking brings upon the awe-some creation. van gogh's greatness should not be doomed to be accompanied by his story. that's why everyone loves it! oh how absolutely INCREDIBLE those paintings are. LOOK AT THE PAIN IN HIS BRUSHSTROKES. OH DON'T YOU JUST FEEL HIS

TORMENT.

no.

the torment one should admire should not be that of his life. the torment one must seek is the struggle for artistic truth. the ambience of a GAUGUIN is a different thing to the beautiful skill of a MANET's asparagus and yet that is different too to the spunk of MANET's Olympia.

i hate art.

for as much as i cradle it's luminescent brilliance in my gentle grip, i am burdened by the

awfulness of art.

art is doomed for pain

one who understand it is in pain.

one who makes it ( well ) is in pain.

if you truly enjoy everything the world of art has to offer, if you relish in it, if it does not pain you,

you are bound to creative ignorance.

you should know that if so, you are looking at just the canvas. and nothing more.

you are a blind viewer.
you like it easy.