Skip to main content

The Art Worlds Last Stand?

 I was pissed off that the wait for a lumbering freight at a highway 7 level crossing, west of Saskatoon, was over 15 minutes, but I was entertained by the slide show that rolled past.  I would have taken photos of the show but I wasn't prepared to enjoy an on my phone ticket from the officer in the RCMP cruiser that was waiting in the lane to my right. This blog is a fun mess, but there is no possible way I can afford a ticket just to enhance the visuals.

 

Photos would have been nice. There are very talented people tagging the train cars.

You will see the most colourful, most graphically precise work on a car. That is the Journeyperson tagger.  And then maybe two or ten cars down, past varying levels of work and prose, you will see it in sprayed black scrawl.

"Fuck"

The apprentice speaks.

Well, we all had to start somewhere.


I give these people credit. It must take a considerable amount of hutzpah to hang out in rail yards, trying to find enough light to do your best work, every second eyeing and dodging the railway dicks, who would no doubt love to lay a beating on your evil 'vandal' ass.

But not a vandal. A hero. The last of a breed.


Everyday I see more AI crap on social media. The computer is taking over from the human creator, and it is not good or right. If human creation is replaced is there any reason for our species to survive?  If talent is ignored why bother striving to be anymore than a blob on the couch, being entertained by AI crap, until we wither and die?


But...

How does AI tag a rail car?  Or a wall? It doesn't. That is left to the creators. Those daring people giving you a free, rolling slide show, as the CP freight keeps you from your doctors appointment, or your lunch date,

Cheer the creators.

And hope that the apprentice moves beyond four letter words.

 



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Heartbreak Comes At Us From All Sizes

 I'm going to blame it on the smoke, but in reality the smoke lifted early last evening, around the same time the rain that was supposed to fall didn't. I was choked up as I removed the nest this morning. I won't admit to having tears in my eyes, and if you had caught me I would have admitted to no more than smoke and allergies. Men don't cry over the most crushing of events. We certainly don't cry over the death of a baby bird.  Allergies, you know. This spring a pair of barn swallows began spending time around the house, perching on the rope light above the deck, outside the kitchen window.  My wife first, and then me, would chatter at them, try to imitate their language, through the window. When we sat on the deck we would talk our version of swallow as they flew by, and pretty soon they became comfortable, and would join us while we were sipping wine or having morning coffee. Them, perched on the rope lights, just out of the reach of the weird apes, and us down ...
Post a Comment
Read more

New Grey Hairs And Funeral Clothes

 "The last time I saw you you didn't have grey hair." As much as that statement kicked my ass, only fools argue with the blatant truth. I dressed nice. The minute I walked into the venue I regretted it. "I hope it's a quick service. I'm going to melt." I didn't melt, but my deodorant failed. It was 95 degrees F. in the shade.  It was dead still and stifling hot in the packed auditorium.  My jacket came off before I was seated. I would have taken off my pants but for funeral decorum. I dress nice out of respect. I will not wear a tie, but in my suit, shirt and hat I do look mighty fine.  I have never embarrassed myself  because of the way I dress up.  Except perhaps I did yesterday. When did it become standard practice to slob it down for funerals? Shorts? T-shirts? "Do you own a razor, there Chumley?" As I walked into the 100 degree venue a random T-shirt commented with sarcasm,  "you look good." I wanted to tell him to piss off a...
Post a Comment
Read more