Not exact matches
It was about feeling smart and separate from the nonsense, as if reading about the vanities of artists and the
vacuity Hollywood
made me, in some way, above it all.
I think critics like Cotter (in this instance) and Saltz (in many) spend too much time and ink bemoaning the
vacuity of the art and artists presented in Blue Chip spaces and too little time outside the borough of Manhattan writing about artists and galleries that
make and show sincere, good, and genuine work because they have to.
The Stuckists had declared their opposition to Charles Saatchi from the outset, criticising what they saw as the
vacuity of Britart: «You can't help feeling that Saatchi's insipid sensationalism would
make Duchamp wish that he'd never ever exhibited his piss - pot in the first place and had become a water - colourist instead.»