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The Art

The Art

I am an artist therefore anything, I produce is art. Or, Anything I produce is accepted as art, therefore I am an artist. I pondered both outcomes, as I walked through the art gallery in the city. A combination of native works, landscapes that captured an Australia when it was a frontier, pioneers and ‘Aboriginals’ in an ancient land. Religious works of human whose eyes that looked beyond the viewer with empty gazes, golden orbs around their heads, immortalising them. To the paintings of important people or the aristocracy of the past and maritime moments, each done with passion, talent and an affection for subject or expression itself.

Then the cold minimalism of modernity, the cynical professionalism of studied art and sanctioned pieces. A pair of mannequins embedded with countless screws. An inferior piece to the non-gallery display found in the back lot of a country town, the creator Barry or Bazza. He lived out of a caravan with his own garden of scrubs. The Barry collection were in depth, detailed, creations from his deranged mind, crafted by hands that trembled between suicide and addiction. The imagined realisations of a brain floundering in the miasma of isolation and rage that came from dark shadows of a traumatic youth, followed by maturities regret. The nails, staples, bolts and screws that weighed down his mannequins were punctured with feeling, purpose, perhaps absent of design, rather impulses to form shape or expression. The heads wore such expressions, given life the sprays of canned paint and whatever tins that had enough coloured liquid in them to impress flesh on steel, features that had gained shape with every piece of sharp metal he punched into the mannequins.

The figures at the gallery looked as though they had been devised by committee, formed around an idea to copy Barry’s work, based on a vague description from a person who knew a person who once saw it. The “artist” appointed, given grant money to delegate tradesmen to implement ‘their imagination’. Void of anything other than the materials on display. Lifeless screws inserted into lifeless mannequins. It’s displayed, therefore it’s art. Barry’s work, likely sold as scrap metal once he died. Was not art, at least not sanctioned. Instead it’s the clutter and accumulated junk of a ‘nobody’, no art degree, no wine drinking admirers and no state government funding, only a measly dole check to help him buy weed and supplies.

Then the taxidermists monstrosity, the joined lower regions of two horses, hung as though in an abattoir. If found in the shed of a single man it would be seen as a red flag. Any who would pollute nature postmortem in such a manner must clearly be sick. Or so, we are told by media, by the experts to be wary of such behavioural signs. The morbid affection for dead things, the disdain of an animal, the Dr Moreau fascination of intermingling beast with beast, is degenerate in the extreme. But alas, when curated, and on display it becomes a fixture, to conjure conversation, to fascinate and be considered and explained in such a way that it is above all else, art. When I was in the meat industry, a slaugherman had created similar works by sewing pieces of animals together. His bloody and sticky hands, lacing the dead together for his creations. He sold the smaller pieces, I once saw two rabbits running from one another and a rams head on a kangaroo. Morbidly talented or as another slaught muttered, “a wrongin’.

Then comes the coloured lines, layers of paint and abstract expressions, no distinct shapes or purpose. Art can be anything we want, a person expresses, we admire. That is the point. It’s just that some expressions are more important, or valued than others. Perhaps they have a university degree, have been taught and trained to do art. They study those from the past who themselves may never have studied formally, who experimented and invented, who are now the definitions of the art form. Those in the past who with a free hand, and open mind simply did, are the definable methods or styles. In the after Art,inc becoming dogmatism and doctrine. Art that non-artists may invest in or stand and admire or discuss, allowable culture, for the viewer to feel as though they have culture.

Then there are the words or more to the point sentences and partial quotes engraved into marble. I have seen such work in funeral parlours, a talent, a craft indeed. But these are quotations, words from literature. Other people’s words. As is the contemporary relationship with literature, the written word is now compressed, to be summed up. Reduced for the short attention span, and for those who want to seem smart, intelligent, notable quotes plucked from larger pieces. Here we have such memes, quotations, engraved on blocks of marble. On the wall, black backdrop, white paint, “Ah!, Ahh! Ahh

h!!”

and so on. It’s art.

A couple of years ago in the gallery, there was a fascinating diorama of ghoulish skeletons tearing at and killing Wehrmacht soldiers. About 1/72 scale. The soldiers on trains or marching into certain death, a pre-Hell. It was detailed, well created, and imaginative. I have seen dioramas in military museums, and hobby shops. I made many in my early years, they varied between realistic depictions of historical moments or imagined ones. Fantastic convergences between metaphysical fates, metaphors and dream-like outcomes for very real decisions. Judgement. Punishment. Fantasy or religious moralism implanted into a military display. Except when I did it, a hobby. Merely to exist so friends may mumble, “That’s cool,” or a parent to say, “that’s nice dear.” In the gallery, it’s understood to have meaning, it’s valued, respected. It’s art. It transcends hobby or the imagination of a creative model maker, such are menial and socially speaking, time wasters.

To the photos, images of children. Some are of the same child, variations of smile to laughter. Sweet moments of innocence, nice photos to have for the family. What could be an intimate accumulation of moments, now on public display. A physical version of a social media montage that we are all too familiar with. Purity lost the moment it’s made public, sincere intimacy ruined. These are photos of a stranger to me, but to the artist, perhaps their son, brother, nephew, lover? Who knows. On display, it’s art. I should be impressed, inspired, feel an emotion for a strangers child, I should think more than just, “cute kid.” When I am handed a glass of wine, I groan, “it’s not for me,” often the reply is that I need to develop a palate, to culture myself, to grow a taste. Again I say, “not for me”.

Alongside the children are photos of young adults They smile, pose. The quality is nice, a testament to modern camera technology. It’s framed well. Across the street on a street window, models pose in photos. They are framed and shot in a better way. But they are only there to sell high end fashion. That photographer understood colours, shades, shapes that attract the eye. A heterosexual male may think, ‘wow, she’s beautiful,’ a woman may imagine, “I wonder if I could look that way.” The hook to get us to shop, buy a product. In this sense those photos are not art, commercial acts. In the gallery however, it’s art. I am unsure what I am meant to gain from the photo of a stranger, it could be seen in a waiting room magazine, here it hangs on a wall, declaring, “I am art.”

I am not an artist. I have not studied the academic requirements to understand. Not trained in how to appraise or come to an objective evaluation, appreciate what is a subjective expression. Much of the modern works seems as though they were made, with the understanding that they would be displayed and therefore be art. Risk, sacrifice, expression, the intention not mattering as much as the fact of who the creator is. Therefore is it that, “I am artist, therefore what I produce is art?”

One could go into the deeper conspiracies and wider criticisms of art, especially modern art. I’m not interested in doing that here. I wish to contain to what I saw, what I experienced. Is art about how it makes us experience it feel? I can’t help what I feel. Clearly it says more about myself, indeed. Am I wrong? What are the protocols? The critic and those who decide, have the power, to know better. Not the artists, not the public. Should a thing become too popular, does it delve into ‘commercial’ territory and become sullied by the masses affection. The balance therefore must be found in a niche, who and how many of who? If much of the art is created, generated, for the sake of it being presented, an elaborate feature to be claimed as culture, as art. Does that mean, some day a machine will be allowed to be an artist? Or must it have a degree, trained properly to be mechanised in it’s own randomness.

I knew a girl, long ago. She stumbled with her pencil, chalk and paint creating images of those she knew and variations of who she thought she knew. She painted through sadness, in the cold morning hours when sleep hid from her, she created. Her works had tears blotted among the colours, bits of her in the paper. She sobbed, screamed, laughed and even spoke as she looked into what she saw come about from her hands. One day, I received a message that she had taken her life. I still have a piece she did for me, “this is how you see me, not how I am.” She was right, and it’s a beautiful piece. Her other works likely buried as garbage once the public trustee rifled through her things, the family she hid from not wanting them. No monetary value in her feelings. In those drawings and paintings she imprisoned emotions and vulnerability that sailed her beautiful mind through pain, the misery drowned her. Is that not art? Was she not an artist? She was authentic. Is authenticity valued? Or does it need professionals to decide that the inauthentic is in fact, authentically art?

While students and those looking for feelings and meanings walk through the gallery, in search of expression and impression, do they find what they seek? Would they discover it, if they allowed themselves to see the art around them, the expressions born from hands that are not elevated by expert fiat?

Alas, what would I know. I am a writer, actually, no I am not. A hobbyist? A blogger? A labourer who puts words to screen? What would I know, the gatekeepers, the qualified, the experts, the cultural masters, the critic, the invisible reader, that’s they who determines such titles. You must clearly believe it too. Many artists are in the world, they express what they know of the world, but remain hidden nada, incognito. You don’t see them, because you have not been told to know them as artists.

Debunking the ‘Settled Science’ on Vaccines and Autism

Debunking the ‘Settled Science’ on Vaccines and Autism

The CDC claims that studies have proven “vaccines do not cause autism.” Here’s why that’s not true.

Contents

New Paper Dispels the Myth of ‘Settled Science’

I am pleased to announce the publication of a paper I had the honor of coauthoring with Dr. Brian Hooker and Dr. Jeet Varia that thoroughly refutes the claim that studies have proven “vaccines do not cause autism”!

Specifically, we demonstrate how the 2019 Hviid et al. study out of Denmark purporting to disprove an association between the measles, mumps, and rubella (MMR) vaccine and autism—even among “genetically susceptible” children—is not merely flawed but arguably an example of how to design a study to find no association.

Our paper is titled “Hviid et al. 2019 Vaccine-Autism Study: Much Ado About Nothing?”, published in the Journal of Biotechnology and Biomedicine on May 7, 2025.

Download the paper here.

Continue reading below for a brief overview of the relevant background information and a plain-language summary of the key findings from our critical analysis.

read more…

Op-Ed Writer Freed by Federal Judge

Federal judge orders Trump administration to release Tufts University grad student Rumeysa Ozturk from ICE lockup. Ozturk, who had a valid student visa from Turkey, was only guilty of writing an op-ed.  Secretary of State Marco Rubio vilified her and Department of Homeland Security officials claimed Ozturk had other sweeping offenses, including that she “engaged in activities in support of Hamas, a foreign terrorist organization that relishes the killing of Americans.” But the feds could provide no evidence after locking her up for six weeks.  Federal judge William Sessions III declared today, “That literally is the case. There has been no evidence that has been introduced by the government other than the Op-Ed,”

Sessions also declared: ” “Her continued detention cannot stand,” stating that keeping her locked up “potentially chills the speech of the millions and millions of people in this country who are not citizens.”

This case is another huge unforced error by Trump team. What if their primary goalto chill the speech of millions of students and others?

Mahsa Khanbabai, Ozturk’s attorney, declared, “When did speaking up against oppression become a crime? When did speaking up against genocide become something to be imprisoned for?”

Jessie Rossman, another attorney for Ozturk, commented, “For 45 days, Rümeysa has been detained in Louisiana — over 1300 miles from her friends, her community, and her lawyers. During that time, she has suffered regular and escalating asthma attacks. And at the same time, the government has failed to produce any justification for her detention.”

I first wrote about the Ozturk case on March 31 – “First They Came for the Op-Ed Writers.” On April 16, I followed up with “Foreign Student Persecution Imperils Any American Who Advocates for Freedom.” Mises Institute’s Ryan McMaken and I discussed the Ozturk case on a Radio Rothbard podcast entitled: “Why Did Trump Arrest a Student for Writing an Op-ed?”

But this farce isn’t over yet. As Politico noted, “Sessions’ order, while expressing severe doubts about the constitutionality of Ozturk’s detention and deportation, only applies to her immediate confinement. Efforts by the Trump administration to deport Ozturk will continue in immigration court.”

How much longer will the Trump Ozturk Follies continue?

The Pier With No Peer in First World Militaries

gazapierwreck

*** I have been at a business conference all week that has consumed my attention. ***

The IG Report (May 2025) appended below reveals many shortfalls in the Gaza pier disaster from 2024. Trillions spent on so many toys and then we they receive the items and systems from the lowest bidder, the US Army can’t even be bothered to appoint responsible leadership, conduct the necessary training and bother to rehearse the utility of these Rube Goldberg contraptions.

The pier was only operational for about 20 days and cost about $230 million.

While there were no deaths or known direct attacks on the pier, the Pentagon had said three U.S. troops suffered non-combat injuries in support of the pier in May 2024, with one medically evacuated in critical condition. The new report by the Pentagon Inspector General said that the number was actually 62.

While embarrassing and revealing at the same time, it is yet another cog in the giant Pentagon machine that generates calvacades of calamities on a daily basis as almost a middle finger to the hundred of billions drained from living taxpayers and their unborn children burdened with the avalanche flow of deficit and debt incursion that characterizes the imperial American enterprise.

While DOD had run 11 JLOTS exercises in the decade prior to the Gaza operation, the 84-page report found, neither the Army nor the Navy JLOTS packages met service standards for mission readiness, including equipment mission-capable rates. The actual readiness rates and unit manning shortages are redacted in the report, but it does note that the lack of resourcing had clear consequences.

https://media.defense.gov/2025/May/06/2003704499/-1/-1/1/DODIG-2025-091_FINAL.PDF

Email me at cgpodcast@pm.me

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