In the age of information systems — where we are imbued into the matrix of computing — art is revolutionised.
Baudrillard-ian theories of a world dominated by mass media, images, signs, and any other simulacra is no longer a philosophical study of a potential future, but rather realism embodied.
Media culture has created an information overload, and the subsequent implications on the ways in which we view and approach the vast amounts of information made available to us through mass media. …
Visa applications and restrictions withal, there are boat loads of other social issues that plague the endeavour. Definitely not for the weak-willed, but nonetheless rewarding.
I graduated from University in July 2019 (for the second time), and this around, Mother and Father insisted on attending their first ever graduation ceremony. I relented.
Not 30 minutes after walking down the 20 metre square platform, came the all too familiar “good job, time to get a job now” comment from my emotionally subdued Mother whilst we pushed past a hall full of sweaty, over zealous fresh graduates, their parents, friends, caterers, university…
Can you derive pleasure from viewing art through a screen, the same way you would viewing art placed physically before you?
Famous last words:
“I can enjoy the artwork from Google, at the click of a button. No need to go to a museum or gallery.”
“Everything is digitised anyway.”
Art aficionados, historians, curators, or visitors who are all too familiar with the traditions of museology’s white cube aesthetic, be warned. The exhibition choice — whilst alluring to many who prefer the art of presentation to have a more minimalist, distraction-free approach — comes at a cost; a cost that can be best described as a paradox of immortalization.
Perhaps the best critic of the over-employed white cube aesthetic — Brian O’Doherty’s Inside The White Cube — succinctly explains this phenomenon.
A gallery is constructed along laws as rigorous as those for building a medieval church. The outside world must…
But what does it really mean?
A common misconception, or rather, a misplaced query often posed by audiences when viewing art, that works of creation can be sufficiently taken apart and understood in absolutism, or even dissected for a complete understanding of the artist’s intentions.
I’ve heard many a variation of the age-old query posed; all well-intended, but nonetheless extraneous.
The study of art has long relied on psychoanalysis as the basis for interpretation, and there has been no greater emphasis on the
“deeper meaning of art” through the emphasis on psychoanalytical tenets of art than in Surrealist factions.
A while ago I talked about why everyone should own a watch, and I relentlessly stand by it —fundamental, functional, and fashionable, what’s not to love?
Yet a little less discussed matter on the expense you should make on a watch was missing from my initial proposition due to the sheer fact that it really shouldn’t matter, as long as you can afford it.
Perhaps for some, success is determined and recognised only through the achievement and display of material wealth. …
Mum and Dad were the very definitions of penny pinchers. A dollar coffee at the food court was a dollar too much, a book purchased for leisure was money wasted when I could just as easily borrowed it from the library, friends, or simply not read it.
It wasn’t so much that we couldn’t afford it, but more of a response triggered from a past life of post-war poverty; memories and experiences from their youth that they’ve managed to traverse leaving its mark on them in the form of an ever-lingering fear of going hungry.
Time is of the essence. A cliché, no doubt, but necessarily true.
Mother and Father had a saying for me growing up, don’t waste your time. Not much of a saying, if I’m being honest — vague and somewhat applicable to anything really, but nonetheless useful, utilitarian, and of utmost importance in my adulthood.
My parents spoke from experience, learning through trial and error. They lived through the reformation of a post-war, post-colonial country, witnessed the paving of dirt roads and country-side street hawkers, to the establishment of a modern tourist destination that they now proudly call home. …
I don’t proudly call myself a watch aficionado or collector, considering my historical ownership of several less-than-forgivable fashion watches in my teenage years. I do however have an appreciation for them.
Mother and Father had a couple of watches they purchased in the 70s and 80s, that I grew up around. They wore them daily, as practical, time-telling tools, rarely as status-determining symbols or for bragging rights. For them, they were objects of necessity, much like what water was to marine life, air to the plants, or underwear is to the modern human imbued with, and governed by societal expectations.
Not Tristram Shandy.