A meditation on my previous failures of expression and art-making culminating with the artist in a bathtub ruminating like an asshole about the possibilities of a new found expression through the making and playing of video games. Largely a response to the ageist notion that the millennial voice has nothing interesting to say, that it is a valueless voice, a video where I (maybe scathingly) say the opposite of what I mean.
I question the modernist myth of the artist as genius.
I question the (performance) artist as erotic figure,
and for that matter, the sex appeal (economic power) of all artists after 1900.
I question the notion that "video games as art" will save us all.
Of course I question the complicit nature of my generation the most,
but shit man, what about your generation?!
I question and I question and they're good questions but perhaps it is simply too much--