An Amateur Art Critics Review.

The lovely and I were in Bendigo recently, and, as I am an unstoppably trendy and immensely cultured individual, we went down to the gallery to have a bit of a gander at the Archibald prize exhibition. Well, in truth, it wasn’t really because of my undying love for art and all things refined.

It’s actually the only art exhibition that I’d ever really heard of, and I thought there was a good chance that the paintings would look like the subject. Something I find lacking in a lot of art created after the 1800’s.

Now, I may have been going in with expectations that were a tad lofty, but it’s fair to say that I wasn’t entirely disappointed. Some of the pictures were recognisable, some were quite good and some were absolute corkers. However, I couldn’t help walking out of the gallery with a tiny sense of disappointment at a couple of issues that, while I should have expected, I thought detracted from the whole thing slightly. Big headed artists and what I can only assume is intellectual snobbery. I’ll go on.

The Archibald calls for “the best portrait, preferentially of some man or woman distinguished in Art, Letters, Science or Politics.” A fairly simple set of instructions I would think. Think of a famous person, paint a picture of them. Piece of piss, right? Well, apparently the definition of a famous person is something that needs a little refinement. Half of the big headed buggers have painted themselves. What? Ok, I know, you’re an artist, tough gig, doesn’t make a lot of money, sure. But how about a modicum of humility? Self portraits may fit the criteria if you’re Andrew Denton, or Shane Warne, or Homer Simpson, but last time I checked, all the really famous artists were dead. I understand that this makes it a bit hard for them to submit an entry, but fear not, there’s heaps of actually famous people who are alive (some inexplicably!) and it would make it infinitely easier to paint someone who can actually sit in front of you, wouldn’t it? Check ego at the door and paint on.

The real issue though comes, I think, in the awarding of the prize, and it is this issue that goes a lot deeper that the world of the Archibald. It is a trait that has permeated all levels of the art world. I speak, of course, of the heaping awards and accolades on pieces of work that make absolutely no sense and, for want of a better word are, I reckon, crap. The winner this year was, you guessed it, a self portrait that looked like a cross between a child’s finger painting and a playing card. It was a strange, simple looking monstrosity that would scare children, were they unable to protest their way out of a visit to the gallery. So why did it win? I have a theory that in artistic areas these days, people produce all sorts of nonsensical crap that makes no sense. Panicked reviewers, critics and judges find themselves mortified by their inability to figure out what the hell it is trying to suggest or mean. So, in fear of looking like they don’t know what they’re talking about, they chose to heap praise and platitudes on the work in question in an effort to demonstrate the depth of their artistic credentials. The aim of course is to impress their equally confused and nervous colleagues. A good example is that weird waste of three hours of a movie that won the Oscar last year. Somebody please explain to me what the hell that was all about! I look forward to the day when sense will prevail, when pictures that look like their subjects and are not self appointed celebrities are back in the winners circle.

Maybe I’m being a philistine, but, pictures that look like people, folks, real no-foolin’ famous ones. If you need to be artistic, give her a funny smile, a squashed face or put an apple in front of his head. If for no other reason than to give the poor old judges a break.

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