Sunday, 16 May 2010

Who Cares?

As I wonder through the Tate Modern today with a good friend, I think to myself; 'the thing is, with all this modern art, it is an awful mess really.'

Masses of people coming and going, the floor spaces labeled 'state of flux' or 'poetry and dream', and the Turbine Hall made up as a fair, a chaotic exhibit of arts, of all manners, shapes and sizes, and a stage with arty song distorted, unrecognisable. I wonder confused, and there is no sense. There is too much, so many ideas, the conglomerate that is all this art is incomprehensible, I walk away, somewhat dull, untouched.

Ten years Tate Modern! Unforeseen visitor numbers! Explore! Be entertained! The Art experiment of our young century, a triumph, the shape of all new things. 'Something is missing.'

Setting out to judge what is good or bad, it is not mine to make. It is the way of our time that the art of our age is proclaimed. It is not chosen. It rests with future generations to be the judge; we say; 'their call to make.'
I think, we may have lost our right to make a mark. We have conceded to the fact, that we are incapable of producing a statement of our own. A statement, not just of any kind, but that which makes us who we are, a statements of greatness, of strife towards eternity. While we are so many, while we have opened up a multi media universe, we are all ...

'The Tate always confuses me', I end up saying to my friend. 'This cannot really be it, can it, the future of art?'
'I think this is it', she says.

I wonder, if anyone else really cares ...