The writer Henry Miller was often scorned by professional critics for his habit of weaving his own story into reviews of other artists. An essay about Kenneth Patchen became more of a Miller philosophy primer than a traditional critique. I believe that’s because Miller flatly refused to take apart another human beings creative expression to satisfy some vacuous expectation set by the “subjective army” of professional critics. Miller knew how to revere, how to pay homage, by first admitting, as any human being should, that judging the expressive effort and result of another is taking the short path to hell.
Miller was an artist, and as any artist should know by now, subjectivity is for the birds. That is, birds probably think everything humans create non-birdhouse or non-feeder is mostly garbage. I also doubt that any bird judges the work of another bird unless there’s a shelter to steal.
Which leads me to the shortest subjective review of a painting by another painter.
I would hang this Everall piece above my mantel and tell the world that it was great. That is saying something, for I’d be forced to take down the Alexey Stepanov that already boasts recognition as the Throop house centerpiece.
Everall is a founding member of the Stuckist art movement. There is more to tickle your fancy here.