Postmodern Art: Beyond...recognition.

Art. [ahrt] –noun

the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance. "Wow, that's an inspiring piece of art!"

Postmodernism. [pohst-mod-er-niz-uhm] –noun

Any of a number of trends or movements in the arts and literature developing in the 1970s in reaction to or rejection of the dogma, principles, or practices of the established, encouraging the use of elements from historical vernacular styles and often playful illusion, decoration, and complexity. "Wow, this author is so postmodern, the narrative comes from all angles..."

Postmodern Art.

Informed, Into-Postmodernism Observer:

"Wow...I am moved by this streak of white paint on the black canvas, conveying distinct undertones of life's brief interlude across a vast void."

Uninformed, Unsuspecting Observer:

"What the...? Security! Vandalism!"

The streak of white paint didn't actually cross a canvas, instead it was wiped along the floor. A long, slightly swerving stretch of regular white paint on concrete. It was slightly swerving because the artist, Peter McCarthy, had painted it in a rather free-form style: with his body.

Titled, "Face Painting of a White Line," McCarthy filmed himself in the act: a can of house paint lying on the floor, McCarthy lying down behind it. As he worms forward, he pushes the can in front of his face (he is facedown), so that it spills, and with his face, torso, legs, and feet, proceeds to drag across the paint, leaving a white smudge behind.

I'm not even joking. It's real, I saw it, and I also almost had to leave a lecture hall tonight because I wasn't sure how long I could stifle my laughter. The short film itself was one piece of art among many strange, strange, strange clips featuring this artist as part of a program called "Pivotal Perspectives: Art 21st Century" at the Seattle Art Museum. I laughed because I was caught completely off guard-what in the world?!

Since then my brain has been trying very earnestly to figure this whole thing out. This is art? This is aesthetic beauty? This is quality, significant production? Only one particular point has broken through: the irony of it all. In any other context, say, in a home, in a public building, or on a park sidewalk, this same act would result in disciplinary action-a scrub brush and carpet cleaner, handcuffs, a new location where all the walls are already white and the clothes too, complimentary padding available upon "request"... But suddenly because it's in an artist's warehouse, executed by a man who makes money off this sort of thing, it's ok, all tucked safely behind the name of art.

I am like, shocked, right now. Can someone hook me up with this job? I'd "face paint" just about anything, I promise. Even you. Depending on who you are...

You perhaps see my point. Please don't misunderstand, I love art. I love unique perspectives, the unexpected, the surprising, the complex, and symbolic-these are the things I thrive on.

But "Face Painting of a White Line?" Really?

Apparently so. So yeah, keep me in mind, all available patrons-I'll paint you a line, write some lyrics upon it, and sing it softly in your ear. References available by request.