ARE THEY REALLY OLD MASTERS?

By Bob Le Billdeux - Arts & Entertainment Reporter

Here is something to open up that proverbial ‘Can of Worms’ while your breasting the bar thinking of something to argue about.


Who decided that William Shakespeare, the 'Bard', should be recognised as one of the greatest playwrights of all time? Why do our children still have to read, sit through and absorb books and plays that are as difficult to read and decipher as the Bible? How long since you absorbed yourself in ‘Alas and Alack’ or ‘Tis sweeter to absorb the barbs and arrows of astonishing misfortune than to win a fight with your betrothed’

Shakespeare has been re-interpreted so many times 'I cannot count the ways'. From the weird, wonderful and excruciating Orson Welles version, to the Modern Day Bell Shakespeare Company and even farcically (as in the 2003 film 'The Actors') where the play was interpreted as Nazi inspired by actors garbed as the Waffen Shultzstaffe.

How did it come about and who decided that really old paintings were by 'Masters' regardless of the real quality of the work in their 'Masterpieces’?

As Adolph was adored by Eva so the old Masters are adored by us. Or are they? Visit the Ballarat Art Gallery and you will find there as many great paintings as you would find in the Louvre, they are just not signed by the 'Old Masters' as exemplified by Paul Gauguin, Matisse and the predecessor of 'Chopper' Reid old Vincent Van Gogh.

Why do we 'oooh and aaaah' at a colourful sunset, is it genetic or did someone else 'oooh and aaaah' before us and we believed them? I believe that's the general case with Art. We are taught from birth what our parents believe, we ape them and their behaviours, until we are older enough to rebel against them to establish ourselves as individuals.

We sit in lifeless, boring classrooms and absorb whatever we are told by Teachers who just pass on what they are told. Except for the pure subjects of Maths, Language and the Sciences what we learn is only about other peoples opinions. It’s a variation on the concept that ‘history is written by the victors’.

Some people wander along to Art Galleries gussied up with Beret and Cravat for Men and Long Cigarette Holders and Black Ski Pants for Women. (Gender bending may vary the garb) It is there that they perambulate, pat and primp themselves moving from one painting to the next and admiring the angst of 'Woman With Fat Lips' or the ecstasy in the painting ' I Have A Horn For You'.

I dare tp suggest that there are no 'Old Masters' just really, really old paintings by equally old painters. Sometimes the 'Opportunity Shop' will have better paintings than what you see hanging on Gallery walls.

Either you like it or you don't. As the Philosopher Robert Ingersoll put it 'Art comes from inside, it is oneself', anything else is just a Daguerreotype.

Art is what you see and what you feel emotionally, what turns you on, saddens or elates you, makes you want to cry out 'I Love Life'. Art is not what some prancing and preening poonce in Paris tells you it is.

Next time you visit the Ballarat Fine Art Gallery, and I highly recommend you do, then you can decide for yourself whether the ‘Red Dot with Pubic Hair’ is either Hit or Shit.

Note: Robert Ingersoll 1833-1899 Born in New York. His father, John Ingersoll, was an abolitionist-leaning Presbyterian preacher, whose radical views forced his family to move frequently. Became Anti-religionist and anti-Monarchist, Lawyer, Colonel in the Union Army and one of the founders of the Free Thinking Society. I am not too keen on the fact that their symbol is a Pansy.