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The Art of Story Telling (Pun Intended)

What makes for an great piece of art? If you answered by saying something obvious like "talent" or "creativity", then the noise you just heard was the sound of a million overprivileged hipsters as they suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced when their brains exploded.

In all seriousness, the definition of "Great Art" can be subjective at times. Who's to say that one medium, method, or mind trumps all the others? Anything created during the Renaissance period is greatly lauded as beautiful works of art, but what about everything that came after that? Should Piet Mondrian's Composition A be disregarded for it's simplicity? Is Picasso not deserving of his popularity because the average person can't really tell what the hell they're looking at whenever they see one of his paintings? Should the works of Patrick Nagel be overlooked since they conjure up mental images of hair salons during the 80's? The answers to these questions are not absolute, but are dependent on whomever you ask. Although I do agree with most of this, I'm a little reluctant to get on board wholeheartedly with this school of thought. Mainly because more often than not, it's more common to see this point of view being argued by a 20-something art student, defending their last minute art final as opposed to a world renowned art scholar arguing the same point on a PBS documentary about Andy Warhol.

As I've made abundantly clear during my time on this particular blog. I'm an incredibly simple man. I'd rather eat pizza or hamburgers than something spicy and ethnic, instead of pants I own an extensive collection of plaid shorts that makes everyone who see's me wearing them think I'm on my way to Blockbuster to return some videos, and I only invest in big black clunky pairs of skate-shoes so I can take them on and off without having to tie them. My point being is that I'm not a real expert on hoidy-toidy topics like what makes art great, so I cannot speak for the masses, only for myself, and in my opinion (even though no one asked for it, but then again, you ARE reading my blog so suck it), one definitive factor that makes a piece of art great is when it tells a story.

I dabble in several artistic pursuits in my free time so I'm always on the search for artwork that inspires me. Everyday I see images that are good... good technique, good composition, good style. But that's all it is, it's just "good". What REALLY impresses me the most is when I see a painting/drawing/photograph where I stop to think about the subjects living inside the artwork. I want to learn their story, become friends, play video games, hang out on the weekends while getting plastered off of cheap booze. This happens when an artist is able to capture movement and life while creating a static image.

Having a somewhat mild inclination for creative thinking combined with the fact that I don't have any friends... I like to use my imagination a lot. When I see art that falls into this category, I like to pretend that it's not a work of art, but some sort of mystical snapshot of another life/time/world. (Yeah, I know, I'm a dork) I like to pretend that someone (or in some cases, something) was minding their own business, living their lives, when the artist of the image took a picture of them with their brain/creativity. (Yup, still a dork.) After I come to that conclusion, I start to make-up a story in my head about what's going on in the painting. That my friends, is what makes for a GREAT work of art... and why everyone thinks I'm such a weirdo. :P

So let's suspend our cynicism for a few moments, take off our shoes, drink some fruit punch, eat some animal crackers, sit indian-style on an alphabet rug, and get ready for some story time. Today we'll be looking at one of our finest Artist Gallery prints, "And Not A Single F*ck Was Given That Day" by the comically absurd David Chung, and if you all behave while I'm telling you my stories, I promise that you can take a nap afterwards.

NAUGHTY

THE NAUGHTY PANDA BROTHERS by Andy

Andrew and Philip were a couple of naughty panda brothers. As their family could tell you, when they were by themselves they were cute and lovable, but when they were together all hell would break loose. One day while Mom was at work, Andrew and Philip were helping their Dad bring some groceries inside when they caught him hiding several six-packs when he didn't think they were looking. "What kind of soda is that Dad?" Andrew asked. "It's not soda" said their Dad. "Well, what is it?" asked Philip. "It's.... uh.... Lemonade. Yeah, that's it, it's Lemonade boys." said Dad. "Can we have some?" the young brothers asked, since they had never tried New Castle "Lemonade" before. "NO! Don't go telling your mom about my secret lemonade stash either you little twerps, or you'll get a spanking!"

After bringing in all the groceries, their Dad was about to throw away the cardboard box they used to carry everything inside. "Dad, what are you going to do with that box?" asked Andrew. "What does it look like? I'm tossing it in the trash!" said their Dad. "Can we have the box so we can play with it?" asked Philip. "NO! Last time I let the two of you play with a cardboard box, you ended up ripping it to shreds! I had to clean up the mess instead of watching all the hot chicks on the Spanish channel!" Dad said frustratedly "Don't go telling your mom about me watching the Spanish Channel when she's not home either you little twerps, or you'll get a spanking!"

Later that day Dad drank too many "lemonades" and passed out on the couch while watching a Columbian beauty pageant. The boys came downstairs to see their Dad in this sorry state and decided to make a brake for it, taking the remainder of Dad's "lemonade" while heading out to the backyard to play with the forbidden cardboard box. After a few cans of "lemonade" the boys were having the time of their life. They were pretending the cardboard box was a lightning fast race car when they started getting dizzy. "Ugh... Philip, slow down, I'm feeling sick!" said Andrew. "Slow down? We're sitting in a cardboard box, I can't slow down because we're not even moving!" said Philip. "Stop the box! Let me out!" said Andrew as he tried wiggle out. The rocking of the box started to make Philip dizzy "Stop shaking the box! Now I'm getting sick!" he said. Unfortunately they were both stuck since the box was so small. At this point the two brothers began pushing off of one another in a feeble attempt to get out, which rocked the box back and forth wildly until they ripped it pieces like their Dad said they would. All that back-anf-forth didn't agree with the "lemonade", which Andrew and Philip realized was trying to force itself out of their stomach the way it came.

Not wanting to get in even more trouble for throwing-up in the backyard, let alone drinking all of Dad's "lemonade" while making a cardboard mess, Andrew and Philip bolted towards their house so they could use the bathroom. "*GULP* Out of my *BURP* way! I gotta go first!" said Philip in between heaves as he shoved his brother behind him. "No Way! *BLEGH* We wouldn't be sick if *BLUGH* you weren't driving so fff-f-fast!" said Andrew tugging on his brother to slow him down as he fought his bodies urge to spray "lemonade" out of his mouth everywhere. As the naughty brothers stumbled through the sliding glass door like a couple middle-aged men leaving a stag party, they tripped over the bottom of the frame, landing inches away from their Dad who was still passed out in front of the TV.

Although they were mere feet away from the bathroom they fought so hard to reach, their stomachs couldn't handle the impact of the fall and they projected "lemonade" and bagel bites all over the living room in unison, and it went EVERYWHERE. On the floor, all over their Dad, you name it. As if things couldn't any worse, the front door slowly opened to reveal their Mother coming home from work. She stepped inside to see her Husband passed out drunk covered in puke while the swimsuit portion of the Columbian beauty pageant was in full swing, as well as what looked like her 2 sons fighting on the ground. Mom was pissed and the boys were terrified, they were caught red handed! They've made a mess before, but nothing like this. The boys stood up and dusted themselves off, ready to face whatever punishment their bad behavior warranted, but much to the surprise of Andrew and Philip, Mom took out her broom and began to give their Dad a "spanking".

~FIN

"And Not A Single F*ck Was Given That Day", as well as the rest of David Chung's adorably offensive work is available for purchase from our brand new Artist Gallery. Sign up today, check out his profile, and buy a couple of prints at...

http://www.printsonwood.com/artists/thechung

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