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.
Thesis: “Wtf this is unpleasant and I don’t like it, this isn’t art.”
Antithesis: “Actually you are unwashed uneducated barbarians who don’t get it and are meat puppets dancing to the master plan of Saint Warhol the Subversive, just as planned. I’m totally not a fan though.”
Synthesis: “Yes, Andy Warhol’s art is art, but it’s also the ongoing basis for aging and stale establishment status quo perpetuation copies and imitations now, just like the feds hoped it would be when they subsidized it all those years ago.”