The philosopher-kings

It’s Turner Prize time, and once again, those that challenge the clear shibboleth that all conceptualist installationism is at the apex of contemporary cultural achievement are assaulted with the cries of ‘Philistine’.
Does it not occur to these narrow-minded doctrinaires that there may be other opinions beyond their own?
The public that criticise this work do not always do it out of an instinctive prejudice against anything ‘new’ or ‘difficult’ (and by God that’s a boring and far-stretched defence now).
Does it not occur to these self-appointed guardians of ‘high’ culture that there is increasing dissent of this pseudo-intellectual orthodoxy from within its own church?
Perhaps not for them, but for most people, art must contain both craft and a conceit. Why is that such an abhorrent principle? Permanently dazzled by their own superior analysis of the world, they tower over us, tossing morsels of sagacity to the great unwashed, uncomprehending hordes of simpletons below.
If we don’t agree with them we’re simply WRONG. Perish the thought that there might be another opinion.
No doubt they take time off from standing on the shirt-tails of us intellectual minnows to sit on the Left Bank of the Seine appearing to read a well-thumbed copy of Finnegan’s Wake.


street paste-up work 1993


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