There can be little doubt that Western Art is in decline. Any comparison of the great masterworks of the past 500 years with the pathetic soup cans of Andy Warhol, not to mention the flayed cows and elephant dung creations that now pollute our museums, indicates that the artistic culture has progressed well beyond decadence and is now sliding down an increasingly steep slope toward total creative rigor mortis.
Architecture devolved into primitive geometrics some time ago, but actually appears sober in comparison with the delusional self-parody of modern sculpture. The art of painting has not only been stripped of beauty by its artless practitioners, but the basic techniques have been lost as well, producing works that are cruder to the eye than the pre-perspective images of medieval times.
The Holy Virgin Mary, by Nigerian “artist” Chris Ofili, which shows an African Virgin Mary covered with elephant dung.
Music, too, has fared poorly. A top producer such as Dr. Dre could no more write an orchestral score than could Britney Spears tackle Verdi’s “La Traviata.” I say this with confidence, having penned two Billboard-charting dance hits myself, despite barely being able to read music. About poetry, the less said the better, as even the treacly, but delightful wordsmithery of A.A. Milne looks downright epic in comparison with the state-subsidized, overpoliticized tripe published today.
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