* jazzyhands *

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::21.2.05:: Art

Today I sat at work and coloured in my phone message pad with highlighter pen. I looked at it - the way the green melded into the yellow, the harmony of lines - and I thought I could be onto something.

This outpouring reflected the ennui of the modern office worker. So much could be read into it - the tedium, the meniality, the frustration of a wasted life. Surely this was the natural child of Pop Art, the love child of Dada. I would become the saviour of modern art.

Then I looked at it again. I don't really have time to become the saviour of anything and the reason I dropped out of Art school many years ago was because I grew disillusioned that people put so much value into something so intrinsically worthless, that Art was about creating "things" that had no purpose, that just created clutter.

To me, true art is about making something useful, beautiful unless it is a alliance of asthetic and ephemerality.

So I threw my masterpiece in the bin and fire up Seek to look for work as an ice sculptress.

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