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The world as a stage

By Caroline  

I have a confession to make. No matter how ridiculous the latest modern art ‘offering’ is, no matter how dire, I feel socially bludgeoned into saying something positive about it. Pete Doherty’s blood paintings? How subversive! So like Marc Quin’s ‘self’, but so much more, er, numinous and sublime? There seems to be a sort of subliminal pact between art goers to expound poetic verbosities at the drop of a hat; if you don’t have something extremely cerebral to say about the piece of string in the perspex box, then you are clearly a cultural moron, didn’t understand the subtle…

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