I don’t know, Edvard, I just don’t get it.
Where’s the emotion? Where’s the humanity? This just needs…something.
Don’t take it personally, man. I’m not much for art in the first place, and this expressionist stuff you’re heralding is kind of all over the place to me. I mean, when you explain it to me I get it: The Frieze of Life and all that. I’m just not sure “amazement at a delicious ice cream cone” is on the same plane as themes like love, death, anxiety, and the like.
I’m not trying to crap on your work, I swear! You asked my opinion is all. Ugh, this is why I hate it when you show me your new works. You get all bent out of shape and you go off on some terrible bender and get drunk and into fist fights and the next thing I know I’m picking you up from some sanitarium where you’ve been eating rice and getting your head zapped with electrodes for six months.
Look, if you’re happy with it then that’s what matters, right?
Fine, FINE. If I HAD to give some criticism, I’d like to see less ice cream and more of a red sky over the Oslofjord. You know, something that could serve as a sort of stand-in for some sort of dissociative disorder.
What do you mean, “no one would like that?” WELL DON’T ASK FOR MY ADVICE IF YOU’RE JUST GOING TO MAKE FUN OF IT.
Wear this shirt: While strolling the hillsides of Lillehammer.
Don’t wear this shirt: While asking your parents if you can move back in the basement, since that degree in Art History isn’t really paying off the way you thought it would.
This shirt tells the world: “I’ve never met a pun I wouldn’t wear on a shirt.”
We call this color: I scream, you scream, something something silver.
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