Is Anything Art? - An Analysis of the Mass Nude Idiots Phenomenon

Spencer Tunick takes photographs of naked people for a living. He calls it "Art". But is it?


In 2010, 5000 idiots stripped in front of the Sydney Opera House in the name of "art".

How fitting that such a freak event occur at such a freak of a building.

Like a massive flock of shaved sheep, the art-nudists were expertly steered, organised and positioned by Tunick's shepparding. His support staff providing nuanced direction from the side-lines, like sheep-dogs.

What? Not one boner?

 



A number of questions and thoughts enter the mind of the normal person who witnesses such events:








How do nudists, novice and seasoned, actually bring themselves to do it (especially the heinous, the ugly and the small-pricked)?

It appears that lurking amongst us, disguised in clothing, are thousands of people just bursting to strip in public. How do we explain this? Are they mental or normal? Do they have humility, feel shame?

How are they immune to the centuries-old guilt trip handed down to us over the ages by the Church that we should hide our private bits?



How do the blokes not get erections? Think about it: female naked bodies normally arouse males. It's a trillion dollar industry and necessary element for continuing the human race. Tunick's events should create a sea of woodies followed by a mexican wave of female disgust, slaps and walk-offs.

Does there need to be an artistic reason to support such an activity? There must be some considerable motivation behind this behaviour, as it is no simple task: to participate requires effort, time, transport and logistical arrangements, time off work, etc etc. There are many obstacles presented to the budding art-nudist. They must really mean what they do. Why?

If these people are not psychos, the rest of us normals must shiver a little at why we all don't feel such a need.

Queensland Inundated by Thin Young Girls

The horrific floods in Queensland have resulted in pointless death, misery and destruction whose effects will outlast those left mourning.

Walking amongst these tragedies - filming, dictating the human reaction, carelessly over-using hyperbole to secure a greater market of bug-eyed public for advertising business - is a remarkably inappropriate phenomenon. Standing in the fore-ground of all this abject horror is an army of extremely well-dressed, young, thin and good-looking girls.

This Aryan race of dainty princesses is called on to interpret, analyse, deconstruct the suffering and loss of whole communities with the vocabulary of an ATM.

One knows not which ugly fact to balk and then vomit at first.

If TV news reporters were recruited from the general public, why don't they look like the people they interview in their vox populi pieces? 

"So...yeah." The Wisdom of Sports Interviews

Why does the media interview sports people?

They don't say anything interesting or enlightening or even entertaining.

They just look to the side, stumble through a mental list of banal platitudes, pick one and blurt it out as quickly as possible.

What's even more ridiculous is accosting athletes away from the game, like at the airport. They're tired, grouchy, vulnerable and this on top of an existing inability to summarise the complexities of their athletic achievements.

Perhaps this painfully boring, painfully expected event is so shit to witness because these vessels of intellectual precision are only ever asked lame-arsed questions (or response prompts). Perhaps it's because sports people don't do interesting or enlightening on the fly. Perhaps sports people don't have any idea how they do what they do.

Whatever it is, please stop. Play the game and piss off. We don't need to hear that the game went very well/could've gone better and you'll do better next time, so...yeah.



It appears that using your brain to speak is a challenge beyond the reach of any training, physical fitness, competitive spirit and all that other machismo shit handed down from the stone age.

It appears from the pathetic pithy platitudes that are mumbled from panting athletes on the sidelines, spitting into a phallic microphone wielded by someone less interesting than the microphone, that answering the incisive questions of sports interviewers is just too much for your average sports-person.

But how can it be? How hard is it to anticipate the obvious and respond in kind?

Think about it. You've just won/lost a big game. Some heavily-made-up little girl dressed to go night-clubbing is waiting for you to wander over. She's very likely going to ask you a question along the lines of the "How was the game? What happened?" Simple yet direct.

What else could she ask? "So, how would the battle of Agincourt have gone without the addition of the longbow to the English arsenal?"

Here's a few examples of typical sports interviews:

- Interviewer "He had you five-three in the first set, what were you thinking at that point in the match?"

Rafael Nadal "Well, he was playing fine. I was probably playing a little shorter than usual. He was playing aggressively... just keep fighting and we'll see how we go... He was playing better than I was."


- Interviewer "Well, Sterling, a far more composed performance. You didn't have a lot of ball, but what you did have you did a lot with."

Sterling Mortlock "Yeah... I think it was ah... improvement from last week... pretty positive, ah.. looking at the bench at the end of the match, a fair few injuries, so... we'll have to see how we are for the next few weeks."

- Interviewer "Congratulations. A food first set, but tightened a little for you in the second."

Venus Williams "Yeah, um... I think, you know, she really played well, um... I have to give her credit for really... raising her game... really, ah, she played so well... such a deep ball, you can mix it up... I mean, she has great things in her... she just has to stay healthy."

Wow! Now I completely understand how they played well/badly and as a result won/lost.

Imagine if scientists and innovators were interviewed:

Interviewer "So, Einstein. Well done with Relativity - especially the specific theory. You've made Newtonian physics look sloppy and invalid."

Albert Einstein "Ja, vell, zee sing to remember is zat every sing is relatif. Zere iss no "shloppy", only "shloppier" or "less shloppy".

Actually, how would King Henry's interview gone?



















"Well, Your Highness. Congratulations."
"Thanks, Nicole."
"So, it was looking dicey there when the first left flanking attack failed to split the French main effort. But the longbows had a field day with the French cavalry, when they got bogged down. How did you feel the battle went and what were your key learning points?"
"Well, Nicole, those French bastards sure know how to eat cheese, but their over-reliance on mounted troops was their undoing...


Conclusion: The modern-day sports interview is just dumb. Dumb questions, dumb sports persons, dumb responses. Guys, just play the fucking sport and we'll guess what you would have said... concluding, of course, with "so... yeah."

Fevola - Is This the Arse-End of Australia's Bogan Role Models?

Brendan Fevola:

"Proof that bogans can also reach the dizzying heights of success without having to think about stuff or talk proper." 

Australia's dumbest looking idiot footballer spent New Year's the same way all bogans dream of: threatening the pigs and being a drunk tit - like you did when you were 16.

Vox populi seem to have had enough of the paradox of "inspiring bogans". The people's thoughts captured on Internet media discussion commentary reflects an Australian public that grows weary of its loveable larakins. The older generations honoured and praised their Bogan Heroes - Warick Capper, Paul Hogan, ACDC etc, and even elected one Prime Minister in the 80s. They used to be cute, now they're at best embarrassing and at worst criminal.

Is the tide turning?

The first bogan role-model to inspire doubt into the infallible ancient tenet of bogan-worship was Russell Crowe. Whether the critical mass of betrayal was due to the phone-throwing incident or the fact that bogans don't write poetry is for the academics to debate. But what we do know is that since then Aussies have started slapping a critical eye on the utility of having bogans as role-models for their little shits.

But who else is there to role-model Jayden, Hayden and Kayden, little Maddison, Briyannah and Taylah? Who else is able to fill such a void? ...What?.... Us parents?...

Fuck off!