Monday, 30 July 2018

Art. Work.

Art. Work.

Look at the artwork. There is skill, there is discipline, on display
there’s a show that must go on , come what may.
There’s funding, there’s advertising, a champagne pop party
there’s power, there’s privilege, there’s a crowd that’s arty.

But think on this.
When ‘you are obliged to look at this painting for at least ten
minutes so that you can appear intellectual’, 
while you’re hanging on someone’s every word, 
think on this.

It’s the unsung who cleaned, who secured, ticketed, procured
who properly ensured that this, & thousands like it,
happened at all.

It’s not an abstract thought to express some gratitude, to display
some praise, to pay humanly, to treat with grace, those who allow
us the impression, that it’s just the ‘genius’  that’s clapped & papped
& lauded, revered & reviewed & consumed & hung on the wall.

Let me make this clear.
It’s the unsung who really put it there.
It’s the unsung who deserve the applause.
It’s the unsung who we fight for,
or there’d be no art at all.

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