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The art we call Modernism is best described as a psychological disease, the goal of which is nothing less than the total destruction of art — which it has more or less successfully done. Modernism (or Postmodernism) is both an attitude to visual art and an accompanying philosophy, which now dominates our culture artistically, spiritually, politically and socially. We are immersed in it constantly, so that virtually nothing is free from its infectious absurdity. From our architecture to our fashion and our way of speaking, to the very ideas you are permitted to express; it is the victory of the final remaining virtue of non-judgementalism. All other virtues have been discarded. What is worse is that it is based entirely on lies and conformism to foggy, relativist thinking. And all this was achieved not by warfare or political force, but by commandeering and obscuring the definition of art. Quite simply: art critics and media barons in the early 20th century set out to give a literary definition to that which previously had no definition. And largely defies definition in any real sense today: art itself. Go ahead and try to describe to yourself what it is. A concept which can not be looked upon head-on, but only externally or in hindsight, from its wide variety of artifacts, mechanisms and linkages. By narrowing and encapsulating a definition for art, one that fits in with a materialist system, the anti-æsthetic enemies of art gained control of our thoughts and attitudes towards creativity itself. In terms of creativity, this Modernism does the opposite of what it proposes. It claims to unshackle the mind to endless potentiality, while in reality it creates only illusory, fruitless possibilities while enslaving us to a specific thought system. It traps creativity in a fabricated labyrinth of gimmick that blocks the light of ascension and beauty. A labyrinth for the mind. Only ugliness is considered intellectual in modern art. In the name of this illusory freedom, we dubiously welcome Modernism into our attitudes, unsure or unable to see through its masquerade despite our disgust at its works. We are blinded as to how this monster achieved its total victory, dancing triumphantly over our once lofty æsthetic values. We laugh nervously at its outwardly harmless abstract trinkets, not wishing to be socially awkward, we are unarmed against its weaponised nihilism, confused by its very existence we pat it on the head and move along. Inside we innately hate this alien concept but are trained from birth to believe it is the key that has unlocked historic fetters, that this false new art, drummed up in academic avant-garde radio interviews and newspaper columnists, is in fact the same art of our forefathers. It is not. It is a detour, a ruse, an intentional trick, no older than a century. Modernism arms the aggregate populace against its own best interests, disguised as progress and lenience (a laxness of rules). To this abstract god we sacrifice beauty and tradition, and are rewarded with a pointless consumerism and loss of selfhood. We dismantle our beautiful cathedrals and villages for shopping malls and industrial parks, blind to the destruction we wreak at our own expense. Thinking always that we are better than our ancestors. Moral and intellectual obscurity flow in the wake of this wildfire, as our bribed and brainwashed scholars make pathetic excuses for unhealthy and preposterous cultural tokens, if only so they can cling to a false social world view for one moment longer. And not because the lie is comforting, but merely because they are accustomed to it. Natural beauty, an innate truth, has been repackaged as unnatural and evil. For we unfortunates today, the idea that the man-made world should be beautiful, even beautiful enough to rival nature, is little more than a fairy tale. Despite our strange confidence in these new impossibilities, for the entirely of previous history this was not at all the case. Whether it is an imposition or a strange cyclical inevitability, decent, intelligent people must begin to refute Modernism in daily life. Far too much ground has been given already. Modernism is not a fleeting trend but the catalyst symptom of our lingering death by cultural self-devouring. Our books are censored and trite, our music is base and soulless, our fine visual arts virtually non-existent, and our cityscapes an eyesore of meaningless glass boxes. We gambled with tradition on this promise of a world without constraints, where endless new ideas fell like rain. Of course, nothing could have proven farther from the truth. Modern culture did not immediately burst its banks with endless new possibilities. A seductive Pied Piper enchanted us down a merry lane where splatter-painting and naked performance art make for enlightened culture. All that remains now is the false illusion of progress gained by extracting shrinking percentages of profit from the dwindling trends spawned from long dead ideas. Reboots and re-imaginings, impotent plastic recreations of once vital tools and types, now disposable and divorced from culture. The corporate marketing department decrees populist art trends from a vantage of the purest commercialism. Chain stores will invest heavily in manipulative advertising propaganda to squeeze profits by 0.001 per cent, on what is ultimately a worthless plastic cultural token (itself the ghost of a once virile craft), exploiting the creative ideas of ancestors who might as well be aliens to these artless marketing gurus. In this way all our efforts are expended uselessly, our artistic output controlled, censored, automated and lifeless. True creativity lays hidden, waiting for us, and yet all this is understood, at least subconsciously. Only a false social barrier prevents us from this raw creativity, that in reality sets all human action in motion. They fear this creativity as it is socially chaotic, ethnological, uncontrolled and unquantifiable (despite adhering to a stricter order). So, how to reclaim this rightful vitality? The first step would be acknowledging that we are in decline. To stand up to the nonsense-artist, to not be satisfied to scoff at the nonsensical art galleries privately, but to complain about them publicly. The root may be long dead as the fruit only now withers on the vine, but in death there is rebirth, and change is inevitable. You will not have a new art until the false ideas of Modernism are discarded. The only question is how much of the old and beautiful will be lost in the transition — as surely the cowards who are so blindly committed to their own suicide will wish to take as much of the past as possible with them to oblivion. Destruction is the price of rebirth but rebirth is also the hope of escape from a sullied and pretentious system, gone sour with age and misuse. As Heraclitus said: there is nothing permanent except change. Growth and change are necessary and therefore imminent. During the Renaissance, titans such as da Vinci, Michelangelo and Raphael lived and worked in the same city, and this same coincidence of locality and time can be said of Beethoven, Shubert, Haydn, and Mozart. So could it really be a random happenstance, a quality of the air or water? Or is it more likely that there were social mechanisms in place to encourage and employ a high stock of creative men, a native culture which nourished and directed their labours towards this transcendent genius? An objective standard, with an objective goal? How can we say that such a society should not be of pre-eminent importance? And is such an attitude not far superior to that which prevails now? The pursuit of self-betterment has been slandered and derailed, and no new Michelangelo’s or Beethoven’s will be ‘discovered’ until certain manipulative philosophies are exposed. Those which facilitate the worship of mass-produced trinkets and elevated graffiti, the commodified slavery of the mind, resulting in a slavery to rootless economy. We can not allow to be discarded what is essentialist, the wellspring of culture itself. The list of problems an artist faces today is formidable. For roughly a century, the false philosophy of Modernism has allowed the vocation of art to be beset by hordes of untalented hacks, who are then trained to be even worse. The art world has, in fact, been ruled by these people for some time, as the true artist can still be dismissively labelled as academic, despite there being no prominent traditional academies still in existence — or even a traditional element in the upper echelons of the fine arts at all. It has all been destroyed. The artist has no chance of ascension in the art world without accepting Modernism as his religion. For we see once Modernism’s redefinition of art was permitted, at first under appeals to open-mindedness and charity, it then becomes viral, swarming and killing the host, converging all sanity until nothing is allowed but ugliness and abstraction. All the while regular people do not even realise that Modernism and traditional art are competing and oppositional philosophies. They have been taught that one sprang from the other, they believe all art falls under the wide umbrella of mutual endeavour, though they may wonder on occasion why they no longer see any masterful public sculpture or landscape paintings. The very idea that there are two competing world views is soon swallowed and lost in the vagaries of Modernist doublethink. Burgeoning genuine artists are laughed at as throwbacks and marginalized. Any exhibition of true talent is an immediate indication that such a person is not a fine artist and not to be incubated in the hard tutelage required to make him great. Our fine artists today are dupes and fakers who make giant blow up sex toys or bland montages of photographs and think they are much cleverer than Ingres or Phidias.