Blank Doll.

I hate artspeak. It offends my sensibilities when people take any random piece of metal, twist it twice and call it the physical manifestation of Man's discourse with his inner self through the paradoxical distortion of Nature- in other words, it's art darling, it's art. Pfft. While I am content to leave an extended rant on art to another post, I think I liked art alot more when it was about an atelier with a master painter, his apprentices and a dozen pieces of comissions going on at the same time. You got it, Renaissance Italy or Bourbon France. Now, that was art. It was nothing founded on strange Freudian ideas or the need to transcend boundaries of taste, or maybe it was, but what art achieved then was beauty, symmetry, perspective. It's the technique, stupid.

Oh, and why did I start that? Because I either read in the Straits Times or heard over Art Central a phrase that particularly irked me- "set in its naturally artistic setting". If it had been said with irony, maybe. But it was whispered lovingly, reverently- "it's art darling, it's art". Does it occur to anyone that naturally artistic is an oxymoron? That Nature and Art are not synonymous? That Art by its very nature (pardon the pun) may only approximate the thunderous magnificence of Nature as viewed through the narrow looking glass of the individual? The individual, no matter how great, is but a whisper amidst the immense requiem of this world. Nature is the work of GOD, the apotheosis of evolution, life and material hurtling in a thousand directions.

Anyway, Saturday was spent with Jessie and Shang as we tried to find clothes for Shang. I risk nagging here but Shang, you really should have bought your clothes earlier.

Mummy applied a supp card for me and it arrived through the mail yesterday. I seriously hope I know how to manage credit.

C'est tout.