crikey cripes blimey

is it friday again?

can it be true?

So this week, i've been paid, i've been robbed by the bank, i'm still broke, i've had a really bad back, and weird dreams. I saw Che Part II which was absolutely excellent, I can't recommend both of the films highly enough actually.

today I got unbelievably drama-queen behaviour off one of the art teachers who was wielding a stick that he'd sculpted and wanted me to create a nest for it to rest in where no one could touch it or breathe near it.

Art teachers, in every walk of life post-GCSE level, have been unanimously the biggest bunch of turds who i have ever had the misfortune to run into. Perhaps this is because art is a sensitive subject to pursue, so anyone criticizing your work hurts a bit more than other stuff...but no, it's definitely because they are semi-failed in their own missions to become Damien Hirst and are wrapped up in a massive blanket of bitterness and denial and stuck in an embarrassingly warped mindset where they believe that everyone sees them as being a young, fresh faced sexy artist who's gonna hit it big, rather than a middle aged man wearing the clothes of a stock teenager from an advert or a shit sitcom. They tend to always go to far and get too personal with you as if everything's a joke and hey, they're an artist, if you can't handle it then that's your problem, you square!

It's a deep internal battle that I've had to fight ever since I walked into Hill's Road and met Ted Coney, the human gnome,who had 'never had a day off in 25 years'. It was here that I learnt a few very difficult lessons about art that have remained true to this day, namely, you have to be a show-off, you have to accept that art teachers immediately choose 'favourites' which will then remain unchanged for all time(as they have bestowed artistic trust into these students, so any piece of old shit that they turn out will be interpreted as being genius-this will usually be a girl that they fancy, or a boy that they're intimidated by, or the classic: a posh kid who walks the walk and talks the talk of a scruffy art student with ripped jeans and a weed addiction and loads of loud pretentious ideas),you have to find all art teachers intimidatingly glamourous and other-worldly, which leads to the final point that you have to ignore the elephant in the room which is the fact that this person must have failed somewhere along the line toward their artist career, or else they'd be in a big studio making art rather than telling shitmunching students how to shade.

It was here that i decided i could never do any art ever again, and it took a few years to get over that.

i know, i'm not being fair, but i really hate the snobbery of the low-grade art makers, who teach and make the odd thing in their spare time, thus allowing themselves to treat all those who don't do so as if they exist on another plane, ignorant to creativity, not understanding the artistic blood that runneth through their complicated veins. Only because they lack all self awareness and all the dignity of those who create things for themselves, regardless of if it ends up in a contemporary arts gallery with loads of bronze models of hares and paintings of the norfolk coast. Most importantly, they lack the ability to recognize the substance of other forms of creativity, focussing mainly on bitching about other mid-level artists and keeping their eyes firmly closed to other forms of expression and enjoyment.

The kind of people who would write you off if you told them that you went to see Kung-Fu Panda, on the grounds that they only go to the arts picture house, little realising that the low-grade supposed-art-house crud of the arts picture house is the environment of those with no creative choice or sensitivity.

oh my god. i sound mental. i need to leave cambridge :)

here's friday picture treat as a reward (and an apology!) for reading this far...

here's a man with a bear that looks like tower bridge!! HOORRAYY!!!

bon weekend my lovelies!