Today, class, we’re learning about Bill Viola (no, he not a musical instrument) and good old Bill is a bit of a boring farty pants. Maybe he’s just a little shy, or he’s a little dense, either way he’s about as active as a dried slug having a seizure. Yes, it’s Wednesday, which has come to mean (for everyone in this class) we get to spend some time doing general theory. When I say general, I mean pointless. It’s not even theory focused on subjects we’re involved in, it’s just normal old theory on an American film-o-groper. Well I say bugger to theory, bugger to gropers, and bugger to EVERYONE.
Not you, reader, you’re alright.
It pisses me off when people talk about art by other artists, possibly more than it does when people talk about their own art. We all sit in a big circle after spending a good while discussing the subject. Alarm bells set off in my head the moment the teacher asks, “What does this mean to you?” I make sure to wear my best disinterested expression, which only ends up with our teacher being forced to choose one of the class at random. Not that I don’t chip in the occasional point of view, like, “He’s really slow and his work takes ages to get to a point where you care…”
I mean, after 50 minutes you kind of just want to move anything, even if it’s just your jaw muscles.