Translated material
Pride and prejudice
In Britain this fall, they undertook to spat on their main national treasures - and the one that is more likely to be the "property" department, and what is certainly "national". The richest of the currently living artists Damien Herst is booing for the recently opened exhibition of paintings. Without claiming the title of “art critic”, I will declare absolutely definitely-I do not understand anything in the work of the artist Hurst. That is, I know perfectly well that he used to pickle animals in formalin, than 15-20 years ago he gained loud fame. By the way, in the comments on one of the current abusive articles in Times regarding the Hertian exhibition, one of the readers is given by an anecdote that allegedly happened to his aunt. An elderly woman, having learned about the price for which the formalin cow or the formalin shark was sold, said: “I have been fifty years old Marina Cucumbers - and no one paid me a pence for this!” You can object to the aunt-the outstanding artist of our time nevertheless preserved animals , and not soulless vegetables, and, did this without any gastronomic goal, so to speak, for the sake of pure beauty, art for art. It's time to recall housewives from another country, the Czech Republic, where it is the meat that pickle-sink sausages in banks with vinegar, mockingly calling them “ drowned ”, “drowned” in Russian. Moreover, the product of this Czech, with permission to say culinary, is so zealous that the gastronomic target is not visible in vinegar death of the flesh; They are simply drowned like Gerasim Mumu, and that’s it. In the development of the theme of drowned and high contemporary art, there is another story: in the Czech Republic there is a wonderful artistic jester David Black, the one who, a little less than a year ago, outraged the democratic and united Europe by the Installation of the Entropus, exhibited in Brussels at the EU headquarters. This black about six years ago put on the next Prague Biennale of the contemporary art of his drowned man, Saddam Hussein. In a large glass aquarium, a very natural Khussain (which, then, it seems, was already slaughtered, but were not going to hang) was drowned in some kind of liquid-like a true drowned, and even with a loop on the neck. Everything came together - a parody of Herst, and the unfortunate Czech sausages, and even the “reporting with a loop on the neck” of Julius Fuchik, known in Soviet times. Black, being a true creator - that is, one of those who opens the truth - spent the future: Saddam Hussein was hanged and he forever remained to swim with a loop on his neck in formalin of our miserable consciousness.
But back to Damien Herst. Having cooled to the dismemberment of animals and the immersion of their parts (or their entirely) into specially prepared solutions, the artist set about the artistic transformation of other areas of human activity. He was especially attracted by jewelry and medicine (primarily anatomy) - at the intersection of these two interests, such a final and irrevocable work of art arose as a skull strewn with diamonds. This creation, like some others, lesser strength, but no less skill, demonstrated Hurst’s turn from “pure art” to direct moralizing - after all, what a diamond skull yells, if not a Memento Mori! Moreover, the following manipulation with the skull, selling it to the thickness of it for exorbitant money, showed us a completely different Hurst - social criticism: the provocation was a success, the monstrous amount was discarded incomprehensible to what. Thus, the artist localized the topos where you can try to find the definition of “contemporary art” - this is the same “it is not clear what”. The British ethical gesture ended with an act of practical epistemology.
The triumph followed the triumph, but Damien, possessing a subtle artistic soul, was bored. What could be more than money - only even more money, right? And they poured in more and more abundance, until our creator decided on a new gesture, the meaning of which is different than with the help of apophatic theology and a gnostic commentary, not to explain. From the over -at -end contemporary artist, Hurst decided to turn into a miserable Mazil, into a contemptuous loser who carries a brush along the canvas. In other words, he became an ordinary painter and began to write paintings. Here's a real test for genius! In an interview, Hurst complained that he had not taken brushes in his hand since the art school and generally thoroughly forgot the basics of craft. This time he even worked without assistants, drew himself, actually climbing into the skin of his great predodern predecessors-he worked simply as some kind of Van Gogh or Picasso, in splendid loneliness. Hurst put the fruits of the works in the Wallace Collection gallery, in the rooms covered, on his own money, excellent silk wallpaper with the favorite pattern of Queen Maria Antoinette. This unfortunate monarchy, as you know, ended her days on the guillotine; Our wonderful artist had the pleasure of being repeatedly guillotified by a crowd of angry art critics. Hurst was accused of inability to draw, of the absence of a painter’s talent, for imitation of Francis Bacon and so on. There were even completely obscene hints that the richest artist of the world, perhaps, did not deserve his wealth ... In general, Damien Hurst achieved his own-he was rushing to the throne of contemporary art, he, out of his own desire, turned into his hell, where, like Orpheus, he turned out to be torn to be torn to be torn by bacchanes and bacchanes of art clerics. Is this voluntary gesture of self -clay, not sacrificing himself to the sacrifice with God? Are we witnesses to the performance of an unprecedented pride? It's hard to say. However, one thing is obvious - there is nothing more stupid than to reproach Herst for that he is not rightfully the richest artist of the world. Say, the richest steelmark or the richest oil producer in the world are they like that by some right?
And a month before the persecution of the painter Hurst took up the British “national treasure” of Stephen Fry. In the same Times, an article appeared under the name “Is Stephen Fry the most annoying person in Britain?” The actor and the writer (it must be said, not the most bad) was presented with a long register of claims - which turned out to be only a listing of almost all that consisted (and consists) of Fry's career. Lord Melchatt, Jivs, a documentary about a manic-depressive psychosis, a documentary about America, a documentary series about endangered animals, a television tape, advertising, of course ... Disgusting, isn't it? It would be better if the British actor starred in half a dozen Hollywood militants and led the show “Ku-ku! Are you a talent, dear? ” But the greatest irritation among the journalist Times caused the popularity of the Fry Microblog on Twitter - really, what is this person exchange for? How does he dare to annoy the surrounding details of his last visit to the gym?
There is a funny parallel to the current attacks on Damien Herst: the contemporary artist is accused of not painting poorly, and Fry's wonderful English, actor, and a champion of the wonderful English theatrical and literary tradition, is that he is too busy with the latest technologies. And all this happens in a country where until recently “common sense” replaced any speculative philosophy.