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An Ironic Experience


an attitude of skepticism toward grand narratives and ideologies seems to find me this time of year like a winter cold. I see enlightened rationality in art and jewelry, begging to be understood a certain way, and the sneezing starts. maybe I have become allergic to conveyor belt aesthetics.

most art is the cacophony of countless discourses held within social, historical, or even political chit-chat fused with the artists unique use of shape and form. it's enough to frustrate any art-history student who aims to categorize and understand the eras of art. the popular must quickly sour to make room on the second shelf for what now must be kept "cool". businessmen refrigerate profitable trends as long as they can, but have also learned to capitalize on an ever-changing fashion market. this emotional and monetary discourse is fascinating, but often nauseating from an artists point of view. art has always been contextual and personal, hence, the eternal phrase; beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

when did design become more scientific than making an espresso? we compress literal and implied meaning and send pressurized boiling hot raw material through an assembly line of fast-fashion. counter-culture is a rebellion against this systemized beauty. postmodern abstraction was an inevitable release of those politely forced by society to create something "beautiful", and the irony of their creations is what makes them truly beautiful.

for me art is best as a conversation, a two way street. please don't define my experience for me. sometimes I see and feel irony as easily as I read or hear it. this I love. to me, surprise is a foundation for art, just as the unexpected twist is a basis for comedy. sometimes I love and cherish a piece because it helps the opposite come through. I see something beautiful, I cry... tragic, I laugh... doubtful, and I feel filled with hope.

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