I always wanted to be an artist. At a very early age I was left in awe of the great works of art, hanging in the London galleries. As I got older I realised that the imagery in these paintings was not the only reason for my desire to paint. It was the years that this paint had aged in its pigment. Looking at paintings for me was about context and history. These were relics from our past. Crude snapshots of moments we can only imagine.
Today we drown in selfies and short videos. Painting is more abstract as modern technology can capture reality more clearly than the human eye can perceive it. How we record time now is also clinical and devoid of passion. The galleries have emptied now and although a rare Picasso will cause a stir. We do not yearn for old warships caught in sunsets or ballerinas practising on dusty wooden floors. We prefer instead to mentally ingest half naked celebrities trapped within pouty lipped selfies. We add likes and hearts. We pile upon these shallow few the gratitude of our ignorance; for art is truly dead.
I still visit these galleries and I still stand there, mostly alone. Then before these great masters I offer my heart and my humble gratitude. For these artists who held a brush and whose eye was the conduit for their emotions and the beauty they witnessed, were in truth the purest souls in our world. Not knowing that they were also the harbingers of our digital doom.
Today we drown in selfies and short videos. Painting is more abstract as modern technology can capture reality more clearly than the human eye can perceive it. How we record time now is also clinical and devoid of passion. The galleries have emptied now and although a rare Picasso will cause a stir. We do not yearn for old warships caught in sunsets or ballerinas practising on dusty wooden floors. We prefer instead to mentally ingest half naked celebrities trapped within pouty lipped selfies. We add likes and hearts. We pile upon these shallow few the gratitude of our ignorance; for art is truly dead.
I still visit these galleries and I still stand there, mostly alone. Then before these great masters I offer my heart and my humble gratitude. For these artists who held a brush and whose eye was the conduit for their emotions and the beauty they witnessed, were in truth the purest souls in our world. Not knowing that they were also the harbingers of our digital doom.
