ART AND TRASH

We used to do coke, drink pinot noir, talk about punk music and paint all night long. We talked so much and we painted so much and it was such a joy that we didn’t even find time for sex.

Our work:

The moment purpose and brush combined was the moment it started to be art.

While you were applying big blocks of colour to the top right and I was doing something more gestural to the left, at that point it was art.

When it was complete and propped up against the wall in yr bedroom it was STILL art.

But when we broke up and you left it propped against a wheelie bin, then it became trash, instantly. From art to trash in one gesture, and maybe thats more common than we care to admit. Art is trash, museums are cathedrals of trash. Maybe true art can only be found in the gutter.

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waste of oxygen

his father died and he put a whole lifetimes hard work up his nose, pathetic. Snorting lines of weak coke off a fashionable coffee table book about Dadaism while wanking off furiously to pictures of Louise Mensch on his iphone. He was a terrible man.