…..again……………………..for like the bazillionth time, because he obviously thinks he’s jesus and why doesn’t he just remake The Last Temptation of Christ already, because we all know that he would be much more convincing macking with the deciples in the garden (because jesus was gay of course) than he was macking Trinity in the Matrix II because that was soooo convincing. And what was my point…..

Oh yeah, because your editor has no life I came home from this stupid movie and was wondering what those french theorists who hate everything fun, including Disneyland, I mean why can’t Baudrillard just go to Disneyland, go on the rides and get felt up by Mickey Goofy and Donald like everyone else and go home with a smile on his face like a good little boy?

Instead he’s got to go and say mean things about how he hates America and Americans

Like,

Disneyland is a perfect model of all the entangled orders of simulation….

And,

Disneyland is presented as imaginary in order to make us believe that the rest is real, when in fact all of Los Angeles and America surrounding it are no longer real, but of the order of the hperreal and of simulation.

And,

The Disneyland imaginary is neither true nor false: it is a deterrence machine set up in order to rejuvenate in reverse the fiction of the real. Whence the debility, the infantile degeneration of this imaginary…particularly among those adults who go there to act the child in order to foster illusions of their real childishness…made up of childhood signals and faked phantasms.

I mean come on who hasn’t faked a phantasm before? Well, probably not that guy in the background whose about to have a phantasm in his pants, but…Why does Baudrillard hate sex and America so much?

And where was I again… oh yeah, french theorists who hate everything fun… well except for that Foucault guy, who liked to ride a pendulum and wrote about sex and pleasure and discipline and punishment…because he was like a big queen and totally into s&m

And what does this have to do with colour?¿?

Oh, yeah, so anyway I came back from the Day the Earth Stood Still and like a normal person I was like “Ok, what could Baudrillard possibly have to say about colour?” So here it is (and buy that Colours book already),

The world of colours is opposed to the world of values, and the ‘chic’ invariably implies the elimination of appearences in favour of being: black, white, grey – whatever registers zero on the colour scale – is correspondingly paradigmatic of dignity, repression and moral standing.

See I knew he hated colour, he’s like a pilgrim or something…which didn’t they get thrown out of England because they hated sex and didn’t want the king to have lots of wives and lots of sex.

…freedom and the absence of responsibilities are thus inscribed both in colours and in the transitory and insignificant character of materials and forms…

Duh, which is why the gays own the rainbow, and the wizard of oz, and why all those evil pilgrims (and the mormons too, who actually like to have sex, just unfortunately without protection, so they always have like a bazillion kids), want to punish the gays in California with their nasty Proposition 8, because they hate freedom, which makes them the same as Al Qaeda, because as George Bush tells us “Al Qaeda hates freedom.”

AND NON OF THIS HAS ANYTHING TO DO WITH PAINTING! but it was fun for me anyway, because I have no life, and my partner’s on the other side of the world for five week, so i’m in front of my computer instead of in front of the teevee watching 48 Hours or Without a Trace, or whatever it is they have on CBS on Sunday nights as filler between the commercials for viagra.

Pierre Bonnard (French, 1867-1947) / White Interior / Oil on canvas / 109.5 x 155.8 cm 

So your editor awoke this morning and was going through that google reader thing, because really what else is there to do on a Saturday morning, and there was this fancy picture by french that degenerate artist with a trembling eyeball and wet dog shaker Pierre Bonnard, and well he’s got those pretty colourses so I stared blankly at the screen for a few minutes and was like, ok what the hell he did put that cadmium yellow on the wall and in the woman’s hair so he must be crazy and that chair on the left really keeps the white wall from flying out of the canvas which means he probably knew what he was doing unlike some painters I know. Plus his composition is like a how to on how to divide up the space to create a firm foundation on which to smear all those pretty colourses. Anyway, that ultra-reactionary institution for rich old people, tourists, and your editor (shhhh….i’m that creepy guy in the corner with sloppy cloths and a sketch book watching everybody while I steal from the picturses), the Metropolitan Museum is putting on a show of these pretty pictures in january because they think it’s better for you to come and pay them to stare at the light of these pretty colourses in your track suit amidst the smell of old people than to sit at home popping the xanax in front of your sun-lamp trying to get over your mid-winter depression because Madoff stole all your precious monies because you didn’t give it to the Met to name a wing after you. Anyway, here’s some stuff from the fancy press release written by a curator in a brooch or bowtie since that’s always what they wear over there otherwise you can’t get in the door, unless of course your in a nylon track suit and speak some fancy language that isn’t ENGLISH…wait how come the let me in???

More modern than is commonly recognized, the late work of Pierre Bonnard is remarkable for the artist’s individualistic approach to color, light, perspective, and composition—particularly as seen in his interiors and still lifes [ie, he didn't know what he was doing, if only he followed the book then we wouldn't have to put on this show for you people who like to smoke the ganga and look at colour, and we could go back to looking a fat naked pasty white people].

Bonnard’s late interiors and still lifes explore a multitude of nuanced color relationships among glowing yellows, violets, reds, oranges, greens, and whites

Although Bonnard’s subjects were close at hand, he rarely painted directly from life, relying instead on pencil drawings sketched rapidly in little diaries. Four of the artist’s diaries from his years at Le Cannet will be loaned by the Bibliothèque national de France, Paris. The diary notations lay out idiosyncratic marks as reminders of color, tone, intensity, and contrast. These shorthand sketches were critical to the genesis of large-scale paintings, which Bonnard developed slowly, through a process of continual editing and revision. He often worked on several paintings at once, tacking the unstretched canvases to his studio wall in order to allow for alteration of the periphery of the painting and its overall proportions. In creating his paintings, the artist deferred to the memory of perception. His interest lay in exploring how diverse objects interrelate within a pictorial field, rather than dwelling on the literalness of any object or figure.

Crazy old coots make the train ride to the cubicle that much more enjoyable, especially if they are French, because they take themselves so seriously, of course…Wait, I do that…does that make me French???¿ So, I’m reading this book Colours by David Batchelor…Oh, and if you haven’t bought the book already go out and by it because I’m not going to key in the whole goddamn thing for you because that just wouldn’t be right, even though this IS the internets and nobody reads this thing anyway, I’m just plain lazy, who wants to do all that typing. So just buy the book, I mean I know we’re in THE RECESSION, and you lost all your monies to those fancy Wall Streeters and their ponzi schemes, but David Batchelor is an artist, even though he puts together these fancy books, and could use your money just like those guys at Merrill. And if you have some extra monies in your pocket buys a few copies for all your starving artist friends. But they have to be painters, because otherwise if it doesn’t have fancy words like Baudrillard or Roland Barthes or Julia Kristeva or Derrida or Adorno or Deluze or Yoko Ono or post-modern, then they won’t be interested. Oh, but they’re in here? Who knew that they had anything interesting to say about colour? Is everything always already colourful? How pomo!

Anyway, I digress….where was I…oh yes, crazy old french coots named Max Nordau who HATE colour and have giant stiff things rammed up their cooters.

…The curious style of certain recent painters – ‘impressionists,’ ‘stipplers,’ or ‘mosaists,’ ‘papilloteurs’ or ‘quiverers,’ [this guy is so gay isn't he?] ‘roaring’ coulourists, dyers in grey and faded tints – becomes at once intelligible to us if we keep in view the researches of the Charcot school into the visual derangements in degeneration and hysteria. The painters who assure us that they are sincere, and reproduce nature as they see it, speak the truth. The degenerate artist who suffers from nystagmus, or trembling of the eyeball, will in fact, perceive the phenomena of nature trembling, restless, devoid of firm outline, and if he is a conscientious painter, will give us pictures reminding us of the mode practised by the draughtsmen of the Fliegende Batter when they represent a wet dog shaking himself vigorously. If his pictures fail to produce a comic effect, it is only because the attentive beholder reads in them the desperate effort to reproduce fully an impression incapable of reproduction by the expedients of the painter’s art as devised by men of normal vision.

…Thus originate the violet pictures of Manet and his school, which spring from no actually observable aspect of nature, but from a subjective view due to the condition of the nerves. When the entire surface of walls in salons and art exhibitions of the day appears veiled in uniform half-mourning, this predilection for violet is simply an expression of the nervous debility of the painter… {Read More…}

The Snowy Day

Ezra Jack Keats / The Snowy Day / Ezra Jack Keats Foundation

Ezra Jack Keats / Keats’s Neighborhood / Ezra Jack Keats Foundation

Colours by David Batchelor

…colour is mobile, vague, intangible element, while form, on the contrary, is precise, limited, palpable and constant…

Thus colourists can charm us by means that science has discovered. But the taste for colour, when it predominates absolutely, costs many sacrifices; often it turns the mind from its course, changes the sentiment, swallows up the thought. The impassioned colourist invents his [her] form for his colour, everything is subordinated to the brilliancy of his [her] tints. Not onlythe drawing bends to it, but the composition is dominated, restrained, forced by the colour.

 The predominance of colour at the expense of drawing is a usurpation of the relative over the absolute, of fleeting appearance over permanent form…