Listen, my children, and you shall hear – the confessions of an art guerrilla: I am the
Ernesto “Che” Guevara of the art set, a nasty rebel amongst aesthetes of the wine and cheese brigade. I’ve banished the drab opinions of ” experts” and now accept only art that I personally prefer. And like my alter ego, Che, I intend to make ceaseless war on the fat sacred cows of painting.
This urge to topple fat-headedness is so heretical that I don’t even like Leonardo da Vinci’s “Mona Lisa,” that hymn to Renaissance mediocrity which has been hyped for centuries as a world masterpiece beyond price. Oh, it is okay, a nice piece of drawing, but that’s all. I might hang it on the wall if someone gave me Leonardo’s artwork for free. But in no alternate universe fantasy would I waste millions of dollars buying it. A great place to display it would be the bathroom, where visitors are in a hurry and in no mood to linger over the painting’s deficiencies. Continue reading