College Art Degrees are a Big Fucking Joke (if you didn’t actually go to art school)

6 11 2010

Fuck my Art Classes. Fuck ’em. I sometimes wish I’d moved all the way to Oregon to take real art classes instead of the fucking mess I have to put up with here. I should have spent the ridiculous amounts of money, the thirty thousand a year, a semester, so that I could actually learn something.

I wanted to go to art school to learn techniques I never would have. Maybe some design and illustration along the way. When I entered my fucking Sculpture class I thought I’d be learning how to implement wireforms and stands for larger, more detailed sculptures, not being told to make a fucking TREE SWEATER.

I can learn this abstract shit when I’ve mastered the basics, assholes. But while your fucking grad students are trying to get me to emulate Andy Goldsworthy, an incredible artist in his own right, I’m sitting over here struggling to make a proper cast.

Give your students what they need to know in order to build their own style. The raw material of life drawing, basic sculpting techniques, color theory, and perspective will allow them to improve miles beyond what your retarded abstract curriculum will ever teach them. You know who was an awesome realist before he became famous for his wildly abstract work? Motherfucking Pablo Picasso. You know who was an amazing surrealist, creating fantastic scenes with such depth and realism that they looked as though they could crawl right off the canvas and eat you? Salvador Fucking Dali.

Fuck you, you asshole. I’m done giving a shit about this sculpture class. I am retaking that shit next year from someone who is not a fucking grad student. Fuck.

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