The twaddle about the diddle

A bold con job has been inflicted upon the visual arts: Bad Art is Good Art and Good Art is looked upon with disdain. This deceit is based upon several factors, among them, a multitude of art institutions pandering to many students' desire for fast results with little effort.
Into this vacuum have sprung experimental and "personal" art. Old principals are thought of as too restricting of the artist's inner feelings. (The diddle here is that we dare not criticize, for how can we possibly judge the artist's soul?) So art critics and dilettantes are more than happy to underwrite this unlikely group, where anything "expressed" is fine, and the more obscure the better.
Chosen dealers have stirred the pot. They and the critics whisper into the bewildered buyer's ear: "You can lay claim to supporting a modern Van Gogh or Picasso!"
This is more than agreeable to the artists involved, and they play out their role with intensity. Their attitude, often defensive, is built upon insecurities. Their thoughts and comments are as intentionally obscure as their art, but ultimately mostly unoriginal. Their fragile egos and vested interests involved guarantee this alliance a long life.
I'm quite a sunny person, not often given to rants like this, but I feel so much better letting it out. Some of those who read these "heretic" words will consider my thoughts beneath contempt. After a lifetime of hearing their twaddle, however, I can live quite contentedly with their scorn.
To you, dear reader, I offer this final thought: do not feel intimidated by those who claim their own intellectual superiority. Don't worry that you might not "get it". The further you progress in your development, the more you will be able to separate the wheat from the chaff, and see through this elaborate bluff.

- Harley Brown

PS. Just maybe God will come to visit me; along with Him will come one of his favorite angels, Jackson Pollock. God will then give me a swap on the back of my shiny bald head: "What's the matter with you?" He demands. "Here I am, sending subtle, deep messages to earth by way of my artist laureate, St. Jackson. And you, you keep muddying the waters with your superficial nonsense about, 'who does Rothko think he's kidding' and, 'my kid brother can do that blindfolded.' You got a few centuries of purgatory waiting for you, mister. You're holding back progress with your not very clever nonsense. Now get with the times; I'll be keeping a keen eye on you!"
St. Jackson blindsides me with a left hook, "Smarten up Brown; I've been the butt of your snideness for too long: Mark, Pablo and I have a special interest in you. We're going to email you a list of New York art critics just to get you up to speed. We're counting on you to get the message right this time."
If this does happen, I will take out a full page in the New York Times, detailing the error of my ways; that all humanity had better smarten up and see the light. But until then, you can count on me to keep delivering sharp kicks to the rear end of much in Modern Art.