An associate at my place of employment, a store that sells arts and crafts supplies, once told me that he is an “established artist” and he does “two shows a year” as if that was something to be greatly admired. I was impressed, not for such achievement of doing “two shows a year,” but for that he was another artist and I have another associate with whom I can “talk art” with. I asked him what sort of art does he do: Portraits? Landscapes? Still lifes? Expressions of social realism? Improvised flash mob happenings? Does he do the Hamster Dance at the Burning Man Festival? What? His answer was, expressed loudly and over confidently, “Oh, I do all sorts of things, but what makes my work different is that it has MEANING!”
Wow. Meaning. That’s what make his work different. As if all other forms of art has nothing to say whatsoever.
Because we were on the clock at the store, I decided not to spend a lot of time explaining the kind of artwork I do. So I handed him my business card and went back to work.
Wow. Meaning. Imagine my disappointment.