Art is dead and why

I paint pictures or to be somewhat more current; I paint. A friend described what I do as being equivalent to making buggy whips. Where are the buggies today that necessitate those humble aids to forward progress? Gone.
And gone are the myriad needs for representation, contemplation, decoration and diversion that once demanded art goods of all types. Fulfilling these needs and desires for visual output are unlimited new and not so new products. For one, photography instantly put representational 2-D art on the defense. In the 19th century artists began to experiment broadly with form and composition, and color and technique. This trend of “experimenting” escalated until the present day, when now, “experimenting” has a naive and hackneyed ring.
But who cares if art died? Millions of people calling themselves artists exist in clusters and small communities of their fellows who provide each other with needed adulation. Outside these clusters or “cells”, is an indifferent world which can no longer be shocked or outraged by the “new”.
The “new” has been re-dressed and served up in different guise over and over so many times that there is not a speck of identifiable “newness” left.
Film and electronic media are the tidal wave that has swept away all the familiar art forms and is being carried away itself in a wash of multiplication multiplying that it is dissolving itself into absolute insignificance.


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