Clark Flood

"Vibrant community." Buzzwords exist to obliterate reality, so what's getting obliterated here? Could it be that the art community is not "vigorous, full of life?" Bingo!

I tried getting money from the Non-creative Arts Council of Houston. The NACHO people think their job is to turn artists into submissive, fear-based art-bureaucrats like them. Ugh. I'd rather hustle. At least I'd get to keep some self respect.

I'm so mega-successful I don't even blow the foam off my own beer. Nowadays, between late-night massages, morning tennis lessons and afternoons at the yacht club, I barely have timeto be a creative genius. But it wasn't always this way.

For those who don't know, art fairs are the way of the art world these days. They are as inevitable as kissing the anuses of those more powerful than you, and just as enjoyable.

LONDON, England — Super-ultra-mega-collector-and-a-half Charles Ponzi has launched a porn site for art students to display not only their tentative and unresolved juvenile work, but also their tender, naked, more…

Context matters. Given the art world, the non-art world looks rather inviting.

We relax together, holding hands, telling stories and singing songs, dancing and passing around bottles of the special Basel Brew, made from the fermented blood of poor people.

Nowadays, everyone intuitively understands that it's unfair to show artwork that's not mediocre, because it might bother somebody or cause a ruckus.

The profusion of talent in the proposals we received, comparable to the massive cloud of pollen generated by a field of ragweed, made the task of our selection committee as difficult as actually defecating a gold brick.

She looked at my proffered slide-sheet as if it was an illustrated menu of birth defects and snorted scornfully. We don't do slides, she sneered.

It's common to cling to a desperate, irrational hope that somehow the art is not really bad at all. Often this pathology is expressed in improbable lies like "It's interesting," or "I like it."

Although I already considered myself the greatest painter of the age, I never really felt confident in my ability to assemble a Whopper.

My art is just sharing the beauty I see while I frolic through my life. I hope it makes you happy because my art is about feeling, not just seeing.

I'm sorry you were born without a sense of humor.

For the record, I was 12 years old and I had no respect for life.

"The sooner every spark of human vitality is snuffed out, the easier our job will be."

Every bored divorcee or dreamy retiree who opens an art gallery to satisfy a vague spiritual longing is automatically, magically in league with the ruthless power brokers of Manhattan's art world.

Last night, I had fun vandalizing the Museum of Certified Art's mission statement.

One look into his black, dead-fish eyes and I knew that I was far more likely to be found rotting in the trunk of my car than to ever get paid for any art of mine he sold.

Unfortunately, the Art Death system has no use for artists who say things like Satan has personally authorized me to bleach society down to the roots.