To walk the walk, you’ve got to talk the talk.

God knows who said it, or even if the quote is correct.

What I get from the saying is that even if you are truly skilled in your art (no pun intended), you’ve still got to be able to talk in order to promote yourself. To let people know about you, you need to talk to other people. Other people who probably don’t have time for normal people or normal talk. So you have to be able to talk using fancy, sexy, interesting or even elitist language, in other words, a combination of bull and absolute shit.

Hirst had a bit of “fun” with the media, who turned more or less against him, as his Nothing Matters exhibition got shot down, and had his quote twisted so that it seemed he said anyone can be Rembrant. This is absolutely not what he said, but I’m not here to save his ass. I met him once, and he seemed nice, and signed a book for an art student friend with a message of encouragement, and even let me take a photo with him (so I could prove authenticity – hell I queued for quite a while I can tell you – and I was amongst the first there). So anyway, what I want to draw your attention to, is his brilliant shit.

Nothing Matters. No shit!

Here is the blurb from the White Cube promo email:

At White Cube Hoxton Square, Hirst will present a group of paintings, which include three triptychs from 2007-09, each depicting crows shot in mid-flight against blue skies, with outspread wings and violent splatters of red paint across their bodies. In the four triptychs on show in the lower ground floor at White Cube Mason’s Yard, these crows reappear, as omens of bad news. They often share the space with ghost-like figures, skeletal forms and objects, including chairs, lemons, knives, animal skulls, wine glasses or a scorpion.

Rudi Fuchs begins his essay with the following reading of these paintings: ‘When I try to pinpoint what the visual mood is in Hirst’s new images, I am constantly reminded of Beckett – not of any one story in particular, though subject matter is important, but of the austere dryness of the language. Sentences are interrupted, lines are broken, observations are fragmented in order to direct us slowly towards a clearer perception of the real.’

I remember reading through the book I bought for my friend, and noting an essay written by some dude, who I suspect to be an art student or maybe even a teacher. It was full of the most head scratching fancy pants bollocks but sounds so out of my league it’s not worth arguing with type lingo I had ever seen. I was amazed, the effect I think he had aimed for when seeing his fly paintings. Fuck that shit, if you want to baffle people into near fainting, just shove more of these essays at them.

Oh and there’s nothing like making a reference to another, hopefully deceased and thus certainly respected, artist. It’s like episodes of Family Guy, where they make constant references to old series eg: the Flintstones, the Jetsons, Lost in Space, Dukes of Hazzard and Chips. That way, everyone’s going all gooey in nostalgia, which makes you forget about the cheap gags.

Hey I could be wrong about all of this, maybe that essay stuff is totally true, or someone’s honest opinion (Oh yeah? Find me something negative in the essay!), and maybe I’m just too low level to really appreciate. However, what I do appreciate, is the skill to talk shit. Frankly, it’s inspirational. People are ready to be shepherded. Why be a sheep, when you can be a wolf?