Ars Longa, Bush Brevis

24 hours to go. One more day. And then ... the nightmare that has been the George W. Bush administration comes to its end in shame and ignominy. Bush and his grisly gang of thugs may escape the bar of justice, but at least we can take some small comfort in sensing histories harsh verdict: these men were a criminal conspiracy more than a government. Others will write the books about this time. Others will offer sophisticated theories to explain the rise and fall of Mr Bush's Reich. Others will no doubt find some quirk or flaw in the American character to explain how anyone as utterly unqualified for high office as George W. Bush ever convinced a single voter to trust the country to his tender care. 

I have a simple explanation for the success of 'Bushisim" in America. It's Thomas Kinkades fault. That's right, the "Painter of Light" almost destroyed the worlds greatest democracy. But Mr Kinkade is merely a harmless hack who  has bamboozled thousands upon thousands of Americans to shell out big bucks for bad art you say. What's wrong with that? What's wrong is that Mr Kinkade aligned himself to some ersatz version of ' Christianity" that flourishes in this country, aligned himself so tightly that any home displaying a Kinkade painting could be reliably counted on to attend an evangelical church, and vote republican up and down the ticket. I believe this phenomenon offers insight into the core of our problem. Our culture has so devalued education that millions can no longer tell the difference between art and mass marketed schlock. Our people are so theologically illiterate that it seems normal to idolize a man made Jesus who demands blood rather than offers mercy. We have so hypnotized the populace with flickering images and dreams of avarice that at least half the people can't tell the difference between a leader and a thief; and that I think as much as anything explains the last eight years.

Tomorrow, we begin to paint a new picture. 

What A Wonderful World

"Really, I think one's art goes only as far and as deep as your love goes" Andrew Wyeth

Ars Longa

I had the pleasure last Friday of going with my friend Chris and her son to the Art Institute in Detroit. Chris had never been to an art museum before, and her 19 year old had done a drive by once. The boy needed help with a homework assignment for college, so I happily played docent. The folks at the DIA just finished a six year remodel of the space, and were holding a big grand re-opening who de do. I think both Chris and Josh enjoyed the art, the DIA has some wonderful pieces. Chris shared my interest in Art Nouveau, and Josh seemed to be taken in by the Rivera murals. I recommend the joint if you're in town. Anyhow, here is an old poem inspired by Cezanne.

The Widow, Like The Bankers Son

The widow, like the bankers son

sits at the mirror dreaming

Dreaming of years, which sharpen their claws

and hiss

like a 3am phone call.

We float on a canvas for a moment

then one to the sea of salty tears

and one to the rain.

Rain rises from the sea, and a summer night rises

and wraps around her

like fingers on a red dress.

The widow like the bankers son

rose from the mirror

thinking for an instant

that she sees in the glass

the telltale stroke of the artist.