And I cannot stress this enough: bury their bones in an unmarked ditch.
Those are original Warhol boxes. Two Brillos, a Motts and a Campbells tomato soup. Multiple millions worth of original art, set on the floor by the front door.
Theres a regular customer whom i do plumbing work for, for the last 3 or 4 years. These belong to her. She also has Cherub Riding a Stag, and a couple other Warhols that i cannot identify, along with other originals by other artists that i also cannot identify. I have to go back to her house this coming Monday, i might get photos of the rest of her art, just so i can figure out what it is.
Even though i dont have an artistic bone in my entire body, i can appreciate art. I have negative feelings on private art like this that im too dumb to elucidate on.
eat the fucking rich. they are good for nothing.
Wash my masses
Oh, that takes me back. That rhyme-hating professor threw such a tantrum in his own class that he made one of the women in it cry because she liked Robert Frost and had the audacity to share one of his poems after being asked to do so because it did indeed speak to her.
That professor wanted to be punk and anti-establishment to the point of bullying people for not being sophisticated enough. His attitude changed over the weekend because I think the department head had a chat with him.
📽
You’ve already called people in this thread blue curtained ignorant consumers because they’re not seeing the evergreenly profound (and subversive, and punk™) importance and eminence you want them to see in Warhol’s work.
I didn’t do that here. At all. The thing with projection accusations is that they look false when the image being projected does not match yours whatsover.
What’s your favorite show?
Can you find a new vector for your reactive rage?
I already mentioned Coleridge and Gammel in two very different sections of the humanities and you had nothing to say about them so far. What’s the point of answering there too if you’re just going to huff and puff at me anyway?
Naw, fuck a Warhol, I don’t even care about that. This is personal. Right now I want you to name a film, a TV show, a piece of still art, a song and a fictional book you enjoy. Just for the record. Won’t even reply. I just want to know that there are things in media that you are capable of finding any joy in beyond criticism.
No shit.
Your tantrum rings laughably hollow because I already did mention both a poet and a visual artist I liked very much and you didn’t even acknowledge that while doubling down on your phantasmagoric illusory version of me to scream at.
I loved Dune, both the novel and the Lynch film, changes and weirdness and all. Hotel California is one of my problematic favorite songs. The Lady and the Unicorn series of tapestries has something new for me every time I look at them.
Is that enough for you to stop raging at me for not pledging due allegiance to the aging pretenses of punk and subversion started (and endlessly perpetuated by art snobs and rich assholes buying it) by a rich asshole fed asset?
Dawg, all of that was literally made by Andy Warhol.