dude. art sucks. i mean seriously. it is of no value whatever. its entire disappearance would make no difference in the way anybody thinks, talks, or experiences anything. it must be sad to be ed ruscha, and realize in your heart of hearts that you have nothing to give anyone, and that you're famous and successful, but have done nothing to deserve it.

and it must suck to be the new york times, where each person is thinking: wow, that fucking sucks. and simultaneously: we got ed ruscha the famous artist! so that you just look at the person next to you, who is thinking, wow, that fucking sucks, and say: how interesting! to which they nod along. your goal in life is not to appear to be an uncomprehending dolt. in the service of which you render yourself an uncomprehending dolt, celebrating the workless work of uncomprehending dolts.

"ed ruscha's visual interpretation of winter":

 

it's anti-capitalist! but the fact that it starts sucking early and keeps sucking all day actually makes you like capitalism, perhaps for the first time.

and that's how you write art criticism.