porkjerky plogThe Art Of Shitty Art
Some of my favorite pieces of art are in office buildings. You know those abstract paintings with non-threatening patterns, safe color schemes and void of anything remotely inspiring. The paintings whose sole purposes are to break up the drabness of a melancholy office wall with a different kind of drabness in a non-descript frame.
They are like a sorbet of soggy saltines in between courses of plain mashed potatoes and steamed rice.
Every time I see them they make me smile and I appreciate the artist for his work. No, not for the paintings in and of themselves—but for the whole process they went through to get that framed piece of crap on the mauve wall in the accounting department.
That just makes me smile.
There’s only two logical ways that that painting got created and both are excellent. The first is that there exists an artist somewhere and that is his job. To create/manufacture those worthless, vapid frame fillers that sit in corridor outside of cubicles everywhere. I like to think he himself is in a sterile office somewhere with his own cubicle.
The artist gets up at 7:30, showers, shaves and brushes his teeth. Then he gets in his Geo Metro and fights traffic for 30 miles, grabs his lanier with his work badge on it from his glove box, puts his lunch in the break room fridge and heads to his desk. He boots up his computer, checks for voicemails and then goes to get some coffee. He talks to the guy in HR about the weather or the local sports team for a minute or two and then heads back to his cube and breaks open an art pack. It contains a canvas and just enough bland colored paint necessary for him to create/manufacture a non-threatening piece of artwork. He whips through 10 or 15 of these, filling out the correct paper work as he goes along, occasionally answering emails about the status of certain items and then goes to the break room and gets his paper bag lunch that has 2 turkey sandwiches, a bag of plain chips and an apple.
After lunch he surfs the web for a while because he has a meeting at 1:30 and that’s not really enough time to get anything started. He goes to the meeting, takes some notes, doodles, gives updates on how his projects are progressing and goes back to doodling for the remainder of the meeting. After it he opens up and plows through 5 more painting packs. More web surfing. Takes a pee. Around 4 he delivers his daily work to his coordinator and gets her notes about yesterdays work. Goes back to his cube works on 2 or 3 more painting packs and calls it a day.
That just tickles me. I truly hope that is the story behind all the banal wall art I see in offices. It would delight me to no end.
However, the other way the worthless wall art got there is good too. Instead of a sell-out office drone, the artist is a nutjob who truly sees the meaning of life in each one of these paintings he creates. We all know that artist type—off kilter, most likely a psychological problem or two, can’t really function in the real world but devotes his life to art. However in this case, it’s the most, uninspired, uncreative art imaginable. But not to him. To him, these works are the meaning of life, poignant statements about society and going to genius collectors who understand the themes, motifs and ideas he is trying to convey. Of course they really aren’t. They were purchased in bulk because they will blend in perfectly with the mauve wall behind the receptionist’s desk.
That makes me smile too. Misplaced lack of talent focused like a laser beam.
Next time you look at a piece of worthless work art, just think to yourself that one of those two guys is behind it and you will see the true art within it. It always brightens my day to know that every banal piece of shit painting was actually worked on by a real person somewhere.
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