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Flaubert is dead, and the disciplines of desire have lost their urgency in the grand salons of comfort and privilege we have created for the arts.  the self-congratulatory rhetoric of sensibilite continues to perpetuate itself, and in place of gorgeous parrots, we now content outrselves with the ghostly successors of Marie Antoinette’s peasant village, tastefully installed within the walls of Versailles.  Hickey, Dave.  (1996).  Simple hearts.  In D. Hickey, 1997, Air guitar (25-31), LA: Art.Issues.Press, 31.

This piece strikes me as a proclamation of how affective art can be, with the above as the concluding paragraph for us to not become complacent.   Art and art critics are often too concerned with sensibility and coherence at the expense of affect and glory.  I like the image of the parrot as glorious, it is actually the one portion of Flaubert’s “A simple heart” that I remember. It is partly the art scene here in Minneapolis that has endeared the city to me.  New York always struck me as full of itself as serious art and high culture but here in Minneapolis they are smaller artists with a chip on their shoulders, hence the art scene here tends to shuck the rules and conventions.  Never before have museums moved me the way they do here.  It could be age and a blooming appreciation for artistic endeavors, or it could also be something else.  Following Hickey’s warning I will opt for the latter.

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