Modern art ... I just don't get it.
My uncle went to an art gallery last week, I don't want to publicize where exactly; but let's say hypothetically it was the Tate Modern, at the Albert Dock in Liverpool, postcode L 3, 4 B B.
What the fuckity fuck is this all about? We've got 2 bits of wood; one a long plank and the other a short post joined together to make the letter Y.
So far so good, but then .. and I kid you not ... it had some of the artist's own hair stapled on at the end. WHAT THE ****? It's meant to symbolize the rural Scottish economy or something. But .. it's just two bits of wood with some hair on it, not a fucking Michelangelo.
[Fuck me ragged - this is it]
It set me thinking that I should reinvent myself ... ergo I am no longer Benny, a Terrier with Tourettes. From now on I wish to be called the Artist Known as Poohgle. The 'enfant terrible' of the art world as one critic called me.
I don't want to boast or anything but my work has been compared favourably to that of Jackson Pollock. Last week I did a very runny poo on the lino and left it there overnight. As soon as me Mum saw it she pointed her finger straight at it and shouted "Pollocks" !!
At least I think that's what she said, mind you I'm just a terrier with selective hearing.
This work called Excrement Number 1 exhibits the free form expressionism, so characteristic of my work. It captures both the light, and the shade of the piece. What I'm saying is ... modern art is shit, but I'm saying it metaphorically as well as literally. I've suffered for my arse ... sorry, I mean art.
Gotta go now Tracy Emin's on the phone, and the Tate Modern wants to stage a retrospective of my early works. I can feel a trip to Jacob Smith's Park coming on. A bit of rabbit poo should get my creative juices flowing - KERCHING.
My uncle went to an art gallery last week, I don't want to publicize where exactly; but let's say hypothetically it was the Tate Modern, at the Albert Dock in Liverpool, postcode L 3, 4 B B.
What the fuckity fuck is this all about? We've got 2 bits of wood; one a long plank and the other a short post joined together to make the letter Y.
So far so good, but then .. and I kid you not ... it had some of the artist's own hair stapled on at the end. WHAT THE ****? It's meant to symbolize the rural Scottish economy or something. But .. it's just two bits of wood with some hair on it, not a fucking Michelangelo.
It set me thinking that I should reinvent myself ... ergo I am no longer Benny, a Terrier with Tourettes. From now on I wish to be called the Artist Known as Poohgle. The 'enfant terrible' of the art world as one critic called me.
I don't want to boast or anything but my work has been compared favourably to that of Jackson Pollock. Last week I did a very runny poo on the lino and left it there overnight. As soon as me Mum saw it she pointed her finger straight at it and shouted "Pollocks" !!
At least I think that's what she said, mind you I'm just a terrier with selective hearing.
This work called Excrement Number 1 exhibits the free form expressionism, so characteristic of my work. It captures both the light, and the shade of the piece. What I'm saying is ... modern art is shit, but I'm saying it metaphorically as well as literally. I've suffered for my arse ... sorry, I mean art.
Gotta go now Tracy Emin's on the phone, and the Tate Modern wants to stage a retrospective of my early works. I can feel a trip to Jacob Smith's Park coming on. A bit of rabbit poo should get my creative juices flowing - KERCHING.