I went to the local art show today, and they have two of them. One is upstairs in the main city gallery, and that’s the big art show for grown-ups like me. The other is the children’s art show, in the smaller gallery.
The grown-up art show is pretty much what you’d expect. There’s a lot of pretentiousness and awkwardness. And, weirdly, fear? The entire gallery radiates this hushed, uncomfortable vibe of, “Please like me.”
And all the wrong stuff wins, too. Because the judge thinks he knows what art is supposed to look like, even though you can tell by his choices that he’s terrified to admit he hasn’t got a clue. Basically the whole grown-up show looked as if a bunch of people who weren’t sure if they were allowed to call what they were doing art had gotten together and hung up their pictures and then fled the room in terror.
The children’s art show was a triumph in fearlessness by comparison. I saw an abstract painting in there that was all green and red blobs called, “Volcanic Eruption in the Jungle.”
Like what else would green and red blobs be, right? Other than a volcano in a jungle. After seeing that painting, I can’t imagine any other appropriate use for red and green blobs in a work of art. All red-and-green blob art has been ruined for me.
Another little kid made a mosaic out of what must have been an entire bucket of glass beads, and he called it “Steve Perry the Fish.” I mean how do you beat that. You don’t.
We got to vote for our favorite work of art in the children’s show, so I voted for five year old Stephanie’s portrait of her pet bird Albert. She hadn’t won any ribbons, but you could tell she was proud of it, so I thought she deserved a vote. I don’t think Albert had a head in his portrait, but I don’t know if that matters. I’m sure if you asked Stephanie could tell you what happened to his head.
I don’t have anything against grown-up artists. Obviously I’m one of them. But we should really draw more volcanoes.
A Harry Potter AU where everything’s exactly the same, except the house elves look like Lord of the Rings elves and Dobby’s, like, played by Orlando Bloom. But they’re still not allowed to have clothes
orlando bloom hitting himself in the face with a lamp
twelve year old Daniel Radcliff shoving a nearly-naked Orlando Bloom into his closet
Ancient moon priestesses were called virgins. ‘Virgin’ meant not married, not belonging to a man - a woman who was ‘one-in-herself’. The very word derives from a Latin root meaning strength, force, skill; and was later applied to men: virle. Ishtar, Diana, Astarte, Isis were all all called virgin, which did not refer to sexual chastity, but sexual independence. And all great culture heroes of the past, mythic or historic, were said to be born of virgin mothers: Marduk, Gilgamesh, Buddha, Osiris, Dionysus, Genghis Khan, Jesus - they were all affirmed as sons of the Great Mother, of the Original One, their worldly power deriving from her. When the Hebrews used the word, and in the original Aramaic, it meant ‘maiden’ or ‘young woman’, with no connotations to sexual chastity. But later Christian translators could not conceive of the ‘Virgin Mary’ as a woman of independent sexuality, needless to say; they distorted the meaning into sexually pure, chaste, never touched.
(The 26 worst episodes of the 2013-14 television season, part 1 The A.V. Club)