What is practised as art today — be it music after Wagner or painting after Manet, Cezanne, Leibl and Menzel — is impotence and falsehood. One thing is quite certain, that today every single art-school could be shut down without art being affected in the slightest. We can learn all we wish to know about the art-clamour from the Alexandria of the year 200. There, as here in our world-cities, we find a pursuit of illusions of artistic progress, of personal peculiarity, of “the new style,” of “unsuspected possibilities,” theoretical babble, pretentious fashionable artists, weight-lifters with cardboard dumb-bells — the “Literary Man” in the Poet’s place, the unabashed farce of Expressionism, which the art-trade has organized as a “phase of art-history,” thinking and feeling and forming as industrial art. Alexandria, too, had problem-dramatists and box-office artists whom it preferred to Sophocles, and painters who invented new tendencies and successfully bluffed their public. The final result is that endless industrious repetition of a stock of fixed forms which we see today in Indian, Chinese and Arabian-Persian art. Pictures and fabrics, verses and vessels, furniture, dramas and musical compositions — all is pattern-work. We cease to be able to date anything within centuries, let alone decades, by the language of its ornamentation. So it has been in the Last Act of all Cultures.
–Oswald Spengler, from The Decline of the West (about 1932)
Who doesn’t love a good shit-talk (especially about expressionism)?
PS: we’ve been over on instagram, and it’s probably the worst thing that ever happened to this website. @gabbyschulz.
Here’s some doodles we doodled recently on some spare scraps of paper, as a way to numb out the tedium of reality during a recent extended meeting of our our housing collective (click bigger):
We have no “real comics” — ie, comics that took us longer than 3 minutes to draw — this week because 1) we’ve been working on some Paying Gigs & some long-form stuff; and 2) we’re starting to think that, as far as Providing Content goes, people in the end really just don’t care whether they’re clicking Fine Art or Blind Farts. Just another symptom of our heady times here at the ass-end of history.
And speaking of finely rendered, eternal masterpieces of Sequential Art: just as a reminder, this beautiful page of our watercolored comics is still available at our store. It has occurred to us that, in last week’s blog post, we might have made it sound as if we were reluctant to sell this page to you. We assure you this is not so, and that if some kind & rakishly good-looking Collector of the Arts should choose to descend from the ether (Brooklyn) & purchase this frameable — nay, kissable — sliver of comics history, we would do everything in our power to reduce the distance between this papery proof of good taste and their longing bosom.
Of course, if simply off-loading some spare geld is your goal, you may, as always, make a much-needed charitable offering toward continued Playhouse operation by clicking the golden Paypal egg right at the top-right corner of this page.
Presenting: a milestone in our macrofungalphilia!
Click to make it bigger.
This watercolored page is available for sale at our store. It costs a bit more than our usual page-rate. Besides it being twice the size of our usual output, this is because quite honestly, we’re in love with this page, and don’t want to see it leave so soon.
And frankly, after reading this article, our basic perception of what Art is “worth” has all but been pitched onto the midden. Since quaint notions like “value” have been quietly dismembered & discarded, like so many goat carcasses stacked on a sidewalk in Queens, by the schizophrenic spin-art contraption of late-stage capitalism; and since apparently $60 of crappy art is literally indistinguishable from $20,000 of same by the shadowy necromancers affixing the pricetags to these canvases, we’ve figured, what the fuck. Might as well stand up and Be the pocket change we want to see in the world. Consider it an artistic statement on our culture. Or consider it halfway to making our rent next month. Either way, by all means, consider it.
(Speaking of which, if you value this page — digitally or actually — as more than its utterly arbitrary ‘retail value,’ you are encouraged — begged, really — to use PayPal to settle the difference, via the poorly named “Donate” button at the toppish-right corner of this page. After all, you ultimately hold in your merest clicking finger the power to define just how deeply the Artist must be devalued.)
In other news, we’ve officially begun rehabilitation, construction & expansion on the “Sick” narrative, in hopes it will be forged (with dozens of never-seen added pages) into a real paper book sometime before the collapse of the publishing industry. So expect a few less original comics this Fall, & a few more of those cop-out “process” pics we Art Bloggers lard our site with when we’re preoccupied. We can only hope that, like patient gardeners, you keep watch over these tentative little blog-buds, so that they may reward you with a bounty of Real, Actual Graphic Novels come the Spring. (That is, unless our drawing hand succumbs to frostbite necrosis in the coming Iowa Winter.)
The original version of this thing’s up for sale at the store. Actually this picture you see is a little unfinished — we’ve added a bit more color to it since we scanned it (10 minutes ago). So, it’ll be even nicer than this at no additional cost.
Also, as implied in the comic, we have a new address now! We’re still deciding whether we’re too infamous to use our street address as our mailing address — but the issue should be resolved within a week.