what’s your jam?

Ye golden gods do I have a lot of opinions about art.

I never would have assumed it, for me art was always something that existed more or less in a vacuum, the only possible reactions being ‘I like that’ or ‘I don’t like that,’ with obvious ranges of extremity, such as ‘I hate it’ or ‘I love it.’

I never learned shit about art, is what I am saying, and I always kind of believed that anyone that did was kind of a twat. There is a decided part of my being that still feels like this. I am sitting at home, eating salami and chevre and trying to feel all classy and shit while I attempt to write about art, and the only thing I can really accomplish with verity is that I have opinions.

Opinions like, fuck everything that came before realism and naturalism, these two are my lungful of air in a school term where I enjoyed class and neoclassicism way less than I enjoyed precalculus. I surprise myself on a regular basis.

One of these surprises is, I apparently hate a lot of great art. I think it sucks and I have no appreciation for it. Which realization has week to week made me feel like a plebe, and like this community college art history class was being wasted on me, not to mention my dollars, until we got to something I could actually identify with, so many chapters in. And suddenly, I am super interested in all of it. Now that I have found some relatable art to glom onto, every other style is just this contrast to it, like everyone that isn’t the Broncos. All at once I have this drive to have thoughts about the art I encounter, to wonder about where it originated and how it evolved into its finished self. I have this total twat urge to talk about it at least one tenth as much as I talk about math. And I totally wonder, art: