I had a somewhat similar experience with live opera. I started out as an eager season subscriber, but became increasingly frustrated by coming away disappointed because the (or my) sine qua non of the art form, the singing, was apparently subordinate to casting people who looked like soap opera actors but couldn't deliver the vocal goods. It was like a restaurant where the waiters look like models but the food is ordinary. I don't care if the soprano looks like a refrigerator if her singing's out of this world, and if I don't get vocal satisfaction, my time's being wasted. So, I left *that* scene.
Basically, the customer/consumer, to put it crassly, does not owe the arts anything unless he's getting what he wants from them. And, very importantly, the terms and criteria are (or should be) those of the person in question, depending on personal taste and requirements. It is (or should be) quite simple.
I backlashed well before woke went turbo. I was once a compulsive museum- and gallery-goer, despite knowing the art offerings in my city were no great shakes, but I made the rounds anyway, as if it were some sort of duty (and no, I have no connection to the art scene, neither institutional nor commercial, nor was I ever an "art person" who wears the requisite costume and is duly "with-it").
Eventually, it became a case of increasingly diminishing returns, and I came to feel increasingly dissatisfied, not to say stupid, since my time and energy were being wasted--and the word *fraudulent* kept coming up. So, I pulled back more and more till I was out altogether. My only regret is that I didn't do it sooner, even assuming my commitment was ever justified. Rarely, out of boredom, I might check what's on offer, but practically invariably there's nothing worth the bother.
Of course, I'm "difficult" and feel no obligation to what's "in" just because it is. In fact, the more fashionable, the more I question it. I see art as existing for my benefit, not the other way around, and I expect it to satisfy me on my terms, determined by me--not curators, critics, the art press or "major" collectors. It's between me and the art, and the art must work for me, otherwise I'm not interested.
All true. Thank you for writing this Franklin. Even though we are small on social, I'll be pushing people to your reviews. Thank you again. I'm glad we reconnected. – Mike
And of course the museums don't care about complaints from people they consider irrelevant, if not non-persons, despite the smarmy and clammy "Here All Belong" hogwash. Why would they, when they don't truly care about their ostensible raison d'être, the art as such, except as a means to other ends? It's a good thing I have vast reserves of contempt, because demand for it is very high--and growing.
I had a somewhat similar experience with live opera. I started out as an eager season subscriber, but became increasingly frustrated by coming away disappointed because the (or my) sine qua non of the art form, the singing, was apparently subordinate to casting people who looked like soap opera actors but couldn't deliver the vocal goods. It was like a restaurant where the waiters look like models but the food is ordinary. I don't care if the soprano looks like a refrigerator if her singing's out of this world, and if I don't get vocal satisfaction, my time's being wasted. So, I left *that* scene.
Basically, the customer/consumer, to put it crassly, does not owe the arts anything unless he's getting what he wants from them. And, very importantly, the terms and criteria are (or should be) those of the person in question, depending on personal taste and requirements. It is (or should be) quite simple.
I backlashed well before woke went turbo. I was once a compulsive museum- and gallery-goer, despite knowing the art offerings in my city were no great shakes, but I made the rounds anyway, as if it were some sort of duty (and no, I have no connection to the art scene, neither institutional nor commercial, nor was I ever an "art person" who wears the requisite costume and is duly "with-it").
Eventually, it became a case of increasingly diminishing returns, and I came to feel increasingly dissatisfied, not to say stupid, since my time and energy were being wasted--and the word *fraudulent* kept coming up. So, I pulled back more and more till I was out altogether. My only regret is that I didn't do it sooner, even assuming my commitment was ever justified. Rarely, out of boredom, I might check what's on offer, but practically invariably there's nothing worth the bother.
Of course, I'm "difficult" and feel no obligation to what's "in" just because it is. In fact, the more fashionable, the more I question it. I see art as existing for my benefit, not the other way around, and I expect it to satisfy me on my terms, determined by me--not curators, critics, the art press or "major" collectors. It's between me and the art, and the art must work for me, otherwise I'm not interested.
All true. Thank you for writing this Franklin. Even though we are small on social, I'll be pushing people to your reviews. Thank you again. I'm glad we reconnected. – Mike
And of course the museums don't care about complaints from people they consider irrelevant, if not non-persons, despite the smarmy and clammy "Here All Belong" hogwash. Why would they, when they don't truly care about their ostensible raison d'être, the art as such, except as a means to other ends? It's a good thing I have vast reserves of contempt, because demand for it is very high--and growing.