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3.82 AVERAGE
3.82 AVERAGE
challenging
informative
medium-paced
challenging
reflective
medium-paced
Content Warnings
Minor: Alcoholism, Domestic abuse, Racism, Sexual assault, Suicide
challenging
informative
reflective
challenging
informative
reflective
medium-paced
dark
informative
medium-paced
It's okay, I didn't want to watch Woody Allen movies anyway ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
emotional
informative
reflective
medium-paced
challenging
hopeful
informative
medium-paced
2.5 stars
This entire book is predicated on the false premise that Great Art is a finite resource.
There were some bits of it that I liked specifically the parts where she discussed parasocial relationships, intersectionality, and fascism. Her analysis of Lolita was fantastic. If anything, she can write.
However, it was unfocused. More of an exploration into her own personal feelings and experiences rather than any objective look weighing cause and effect that I had hoped for. Her espousing on the vice or virtue of selfishness is widely unnecessary in this piece of commentary about good art by bad people. And, ultimately, in answering "what do we do with bad art by good people?" it fell flat.
<i>“I wanted to write an autobiography of the audience.”</i> On who’s fucking authority? You don’t speak for me, American woman I've never met.
Her writing feels self-important. I don’t like her approach. She paints herself as some bleeding heart academic and I don’t buy it. It’s disingenuous. She’s so self aggrandizing. So self-pitying. Like this is her burden to bear. Girl, get up.
This would go hard for people who stake their entire moral character and personality on the media they consume.
I have a problem with people who engage with art, people who think of themselves as art critics but have they themselves never produced an original work of art. These people seem to think that good art is in the hands of geniuses, but this is simply not the case because good art is in the hands of the public. Anybody can make good art. In fact, everybody SHOULD make good art because that is what it means to be human.
My answer to what do we do with great art by bad people is ignore it. We are in no shortage of great art. Great art is everywhere if you look for it. Look beyond the curated galleries of what taste makers and gatekeepers tell you is good art. Good art is in the hands of your local artist in the art markets trying to sell merchandise that they made with their own hands. Good art isn’t the hands of your little cousin picking up a crayon for the first time. Good art is in the hands of that YouTube musician with under 200 subscribers. Good art is in your hands if you have the courage to put in the time and effort. Great art is everywhere we do not have to be shackled to these perceived “masterpieces” made by bad people.
Why is it so easy for me to "abandon" art that I love, formative pieces in my life, made by monsters? Because I value human life and safety infinitely more than any piece of art. We love art because it is an expression of human life, thought, and experiences never the other way around.
The answer to what we do with great art by bad people is redefine what we think of as great art. The correct answer is to make more art.
This entire book is predicated on the false premise that Great Art is a finite resource.
There were some bits of it that I liked specifically the parts where she discussed parasocial relationships, intersectionality, and fascism. Her analysis of Lolita was fantastic. If anything, she can write.
However, it was unfocused. More of an exploration into her own personal feelings and experiences rather than any objective look weighing cause and effect that I had hoped for. Her espousing on the vice or virtue of selfishness is widely unnecessary in this piece of commentary about good art by bad people. And, ultimately, in answering "what do we do with bad art by good people?" it fell flat.
<i>“I wanted to write an autobiography of the audience.”</i> On who’s fucking authority? You don’t speak for me, American woman I've never met.
Her writing feels self-important. I don’t like her approach. She paints herself as some bleeding heart academic and I don’t buy it. It’s disingenuous. She’s so self aggrandizing. So self-pitying. Like this is her burden to bear. Girl, get up.
This would go hard for people who stake their entire moral character and personality on the media they consume.
I have a problem with people who engage with art, people who think of themselves as art critics but have they themselves never produced an original work of art. These people seem to think that good art is in the hands of geniuses, but this is simply not the case because good art is in the hands of the public. Anybody can make good art. In fact, everybody SHOULD make good art because that is what it means to be human.
My answer to what do we do with great art by bad people is ignore it. We are in no shortage of great art. Great art is everywhere if you look for it. Look beyond the curated galleries of what taste makers and gatekeepers tell you is good art. Good art is in the hands of your local artist in the art markets trying to sell merchandise that they made with their own hands. Good art isn’t the hands of your little cousin picking up a crayon for the first time. Good art is in the hands of that YouTube musician with under 200 subscribers. Good art is in your hands if you have the courage to put in the time and effort. Great art is everywhere we do not have to be shackled to these perceived “masterpieces” made by bad people.
Why is it so easy for me to "abandon" art that I love, formative pieces in my life, made by monsters? Because I value human life and safety infinitely more than any piece of art. We love art because it is an expression of human life, thought, and experiences never the other way around.
The answer to what we do with great art by bad people is redefine what we think of as great art. The correct answer is to make more art.
challenging
reflective
slow-paced
slow-paced
If I had to hear about Claire’s island or the Pacific Northwest one more time I was going to lose it.
This is just a thinly veiled memoir filled with personal anecdotes and meandering tangents. Truly all over the place and comes to the obvious conclusion that “it’s just complicated!” No shit!
Also, this just seems like some long winded excuse so Claire can watch Allen and Polanski movies in peace.
This is just a thinly veiled memoir filled with personal anecdotes and meandering tangents. Truly all over the place and comes to the obvious conclusion that “it’s just complicated!” No shit!
Also, this just seems like some long winded excuse so Claire can watch Allen and Polanski movies in peace.