Art Education
It
was the age I learned to hug.*
The
police walked like a gangster
the
gangster talked about business
the
businessman was a teacher
and
the teacher is a lecher.
Everything
was actually, or trying to be like, something else than itself.
Every
inch of the land is developed.
But
the uneven brain development is reflected on the pasty faces with vacuous expressions.
And
the peasant stock degenerates further with the belief that they are middle-class
property owners and started to buy paintings for their empty walls.
It
was the age I learned to fuck.
In
the morning, my friend drew me a diagram on the studio cubicle wall to show me the
position of the clitoris.
The
position was wrong.
I
discovered this in bed, at night - not during live drawing lessons.
The
police officer talks to me like a hooligan
the
gangster walks into a political rally
the
politician is a businessman
but
the teacher remains a lecher:
Neo-liberal
forever.
Now
I priced my drawings according to the price of cheeseburger in McDonald’s.
Now
I am being paid by schools the rate of a bar hostess for answering cuntish
questions like
-
Why is Van Gogh’s
Sunflowers significant?
-
Why must we apply
rule of thirds for composition?
-
Why is reading
modernist manifesto important to my art practice?
Tertiary institutions are like day care centres for bored
old children to be entertained with events and non-curricular activities.
The teachers are like salesmen with some discount
books and equipment to sell to the students.
In
the evening, I went to a music lounge with a friend and returned all the money
I was paid to a hostess whose country had betrayed the Third World Congress.
