What’s worse, an artist who has the balls to live the life they choose and make daring work, or someone who makes work that mocks and ridicules that artist’s life? Or someone who posts it on the day of the daring artist’s sad, ugly death.
Get a fucking life.
An artists whose lionized art is characterized by dried seminal ejaculate on copies of the New York Post says more about the art world today than the artist.
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