A guy walks up to me and asks 'What's Punk?'.

So I kick over a garbage can and say 'That's punk!'.

So he kicks over the garbage can and says 'That's Punk?',

and I say

 'No, that's trendy.'

Billie Jo Armstrong of Green Day

Of course the evolute of the anti-punk is Trumpism.

Trumpists believe themselves to be the ‘ultimate disrupters’ of our decrepit systems, when in fact they are just trendy.  

Aging Hippies ultimately find in their self-interest and self-indulgence and punk attitude that the needs of the individual outweigh the responsibilities of the individual to the State, the Social Contract, or the surrounding Community.  However, as much we obviously need roads, emergency responders, affordable healthcare and good public education: “Death to Taxes” screams the aging American Baby-Boomer-Hippie Trumpist…

Basquiat seems to (and has suggested as such) be heavily influenced by a second generation AbEx painter Cy Twombley.  This makes for an extraordinary kismet…

Basquiat, as an extremely well educated, though homeless, Haitian youth could easily distill and was excellently positioned to absorb Twombley’s gesture into a personal street style. 

I would like to talk about Jean Michel Basquiat. Specifically I would like to talk about Hollywood Africans, a painting by Basquiat from 1983… this essay, in four parts, asked a series of questions in the title. “Is Basquiat a punk?” 

A title like this… (Hollywood Africans) immediately reminds me of the genius Aries Spears and his virtuosic impersonation of Paul Mooney in his comedy album Hollywood, Look I’m smiling…

We turned the corner of the Central Staff Office in St. Petersburg, Russia and I saw it right away. And, I knew it was wrong.

Here in front of us (a yoga tour group, only here as a testament to our great stamina, grit, and drive to see every last museum in Russia) now, this Degas painting suddenly manifested… Years ago I idly thumbed through my Hardcover Overview on Degas. The complete book. Listed here in my Abrams hardcover it says: The Place de la Concorde.  “Lost in the blitzkrieg.”

The greatest of draughtsman. The worst human being imaginable (more on anti-Semitism later) Degas -- gleefully combing his La Libra Parole for its horrid little tales of Jewish punishment narratives. What is the inverse of erotica? Sadista, perhaps. Grotesques…

Some “no shit shiela” in Queensland told her pot-bellied ex-surfer husband to finally get rid of that old crap photo. The one of Byron Bay with the crappy wood frame. The chippy bogan melted with chagrin as he placed it in a box in the front yard. My friend, Ben Pontè stopped by the boot sale one afternoon and saw where he could improve upon nature and Man. He pulled a pound coin out of his pocket; threw it on the card table, and walked the Tondo home under his arm, his beneficent confidence radiating out of his ruddy grin.  If you’ve ever met Ben, then you know exactly what I mean…

Rebecca Brown in her lovely and engaging blog-post 'The Stranger,' recently wrote on Romantic Propaganda.  She was referencing in particular a visit to Frederick Church’s home in Ocala in the Hudson River Valley: “It's about knowing, though not wanting to admit, that the best is already behind us; that we have, by our very presence here in this amazing landscape, fucked it up.” 

Picasso has chosen as his subject the motif of the artist painting the model. He has painted himself (as artist) as a king with crown and pantaloons and picadil. He paints himself painting himself. Yet in the canvas we see the artist humbly present himself seated not standing, bald not full, and poor not rich. In this way we understand that the artist's role is too lie.  We present ourselves as something other than the truth perhaps to tell a truth.