‘You wouldn’t know art if you saw it.’ This was the opening statement from David my art theory prof, hired I suspect because he was fashionably a token Métis with a degree who made pop art, cartoon copies on cheap warped canvas supports, you know the type, a stylized woman with a giant tear proclaiming in her speech bubble her lost love. Thinly painted flat graphics dead dried-down lifeless. Horribly insecure and hostile little man dressed in fashionable artists black.
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