It Was Van Gogh's Madness That Prevented

Drawing Never Dies, It Holds On By The Skin Of Its Teeth, Because The Hunger It Satisfies – The Desire For An Active, Investigative, Manually Vivid Relation With The Things We See And Yearn To Know About – Is Apparently Immortal.

Far From Affording Artists Continuous Inspiration, Mass-media Sources For Art Have Become A Dead End. They Have Combined With The Abstractness Of Institutional Art Teaching To Produce A Fine-arts Culture Given Over To Information And Not Experience. This Faithfully Echoes The Drain Of Concreteness From Modern Existence- The Reign Of Mere Unassimilated Data Instead Of Events That Gain Meaning By Being Absorbed Into The Fabric Of Imaginative Life.

The Greater The Artist, The Greater The Doubt; Perfect Confidence Is Granted To The Less Talented As A Consolation Prize.

Perhaps The Rhinos And She-crocodiles Whose Gyrations Between Mortimer's And East Hampton Gives Us Our Vision Of Social Eminence Today Are Content To Entrust Their Faces To Andy Warhol's Mingily Cosmetic Polaroidising, But One Would Bet They Would Rather Go To Sargent.

What We Need More Of Is Slow Art: Art That Holds Time As A Vase Holds Water: Art That Grows Out Of Modes Of Perception And Making Whose Skill And Doggedness Make You Think And Feel; Art That Isn’t Merely Sensational, That Doesn’t Get Its Message Across In Ten Seconds, That Isn’t Falsely Iconic, That Hooks Onto Something Deep-running In Our Natures. In A Word, Art That Is The Very Opposite Of Mass Media.