>I think about this from time to time as well. I sometimes find that when I've attempted to get over it and continue with the 'art' my enjoyment is still tempered by the knowledge and lessened even though I've logically convinced myself otherwise.

Yeah, that's usually where I end up too.

I’ve also consciously avoided finding out if most bands/authors/etc are on Twitter lest they turn out to be dicks. 

:D

The Schrödinger approach. I should do that - just stop looking into anyone whose work I like.

I shudder a bit whenever I start up a film that has the miramax logo. I think what bothers me most are living artists who manufacture stupid asshole artworks that sell for astronomical prices, and have blockbuster shows, artists like Jeff Koons and Damien Hirst (and maybe Banksy)*. For whatever reason high-visibility artists who made brilliant work** but behaved badly bother me less.

*extending also to best-selling illiterate authors and no-talent pop stars

**specifically using the past tense here.  :-{)

Oh God yeah, that crop of artists are all unmitigated shits.

But maybe they're really nice people?

Maybe.

Particularly vile considering that Hirst boasts that "his own" ideas are stolen.

Yup, absolutely.

Jesus fucking christ.

No doubt after years of being told that he's great and with wheelbarrows full of cash being dumped at his door, he really believes that his magic breath can add value to a pack of pencils.

It's probably a purely business decision: he has to defend his value, lest anyone gets it into their heads that his daft projects aren't worth any more than the cost of the raw materials.

I like that as a position.

With regard to Gill
 
​​​​​​​I think my visceral response to him is more the former - he sometimes used his daughters as models. So the eroticism reflects his own desire. Yuck!

Inherent value is precisely why he made For the Love of God (and why Mark Quinn made Sphinx). So that when the value of their work goes through the late-life and/or post-death slump, there will be works with huge inherent value - and that will help shore up the value of their works with little or no inherent value.

It's essentially, loosely tying the value of their work to platinum/diamond and gold standards.

By the way, I like Hirst's work well enough. I found Away from the Flock and Mother and Child (Divided) deeply affecting. In the flesh, they say something significant about mortality. I like the scalpel blade paintings, too. And of course, he gave the best answer ever to the 'I could have done that' cliche.

And the pencils?

Daft.

I remember, many years ago when I was curator of the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, the Director decided it was time to set out one of our Richard Long Slate circles. The slates were kept stacked under a tarpaulin in our storage area. When we had set out all the slates we had, the circle was a good metre short of what it should be. Further investigation revealed that the Bretton Hall caretaker had discovered them, decided that they must be ordinary slates, not art slates, and had used some to pave his new barbecue area.



I told Pete Murray and he absolutely crapped himself - to the extent that he asked me to phone Long myself. I did, and when I explained what had happened Richard roared with laughter, gave us the phone number of the quarry and told us to order another ton, so we'd have a bit spare in case the caretaker wanted to extend the paving.

That's how a decent artist deals with that sort of event.

 

I'll allow how his (Hirst's) earlier work had some verve and intelligence.

I'm fascinated by how the art market pushes someone like that, at what point does ambition spill over into crass greed and contempt.

I've never worked in the commercial sector, though obviously, many of the artists I worked with at the YSP and Cartwright Hall were signed to galleries and some (like Moore, Caro, Frink etc.) to the big players. In that limited experience, it struck me that there were three types of agent/gallery.

The first was the - generally regionally-based - agent or gallery owner who worked their socks off for their artists and scraped a living by working every hour god sent.  Often artists themselves. The second was the off-Cork Street London gallery which generally ran at a loss and were the playthings of extremely wealthy owners who enjoyed rubbing up (sometimes literally) against youth and creativity.

The third type were the big boys - the Cork St & New Bond St. galleries which didn't give a shit about art & creativity and would just have happily sold assault rifles if they could get the same margin on them. Those galleries generally marked-up at comfortably over 100%, so they could make huge amounts from a sell-out show. What they wanted was sensation and stylistic ossification.

Hirst is their wet dream, with his factory churning out series of identical or near-identical works that look great on a big white wall, and his (still reasonably frequent) canny sensational interventions, which keep him in the headlines and in the minds of the people who dress oligarchs' homes.

Which I think is part of the issue raised when I managed to subvert this thread from its perfectly decent original purpose. The quality of Damien Hirst's work is open to debate, but his response to Cartrain indicates that irrespective of the that, he has some vile attitudes going on.

Curious how these ethical debates centre on writers, film-makers, painters, sculptors, musicians, whatever Damien Hirst is etc. We don't have quite the same concerns about houses, clothes, roads, food, trains and so on. If the pavement from my house to the shops was recently resurfaced by one of the most miserable bastards who ever lived, I don't think I'd consider another route, or worry too much about it. There are issues that are superficially similar e.g. avoiding clothes and shoes made by child workers on poverty wages, but the considerations are different.

You're right that we don't apply the same criterion to other pieces of work: perhaps it has to do with the romantic notion that when we buy a work of art, we are buying a little piece of the maker's soul. If other aspects of that soul are corrupt, maybe the creative product and the transaction are tainted, too?

Buying art is elective, personal and intimate. Maybe a better comparison is with politics and organised religion where we do subscribe with passion & conviction: and we also exert a similar judgmentalism when confronted with the moral fallibility of priests and politicians. Though even that is not a true comparison because career politicians and professional faith leaders trade to a great extent on their probity, whereas artists are expected, if anything, to be a bit wayward & louche.