My Alma Mater Has Always Been a Petri Dish of Leftist Bacteria – Now They Give Hunter Biden’s Amateur Hour Artwork Glowing Reviews – IOTW Report

My Alma Mater Has Always Been a Petri Dish of Leftist Bacteria – Now They Give Hunter Biden’s Amateur Hour Artwork Glowing Reviews

The School of Visual Arts should be ashamed of themselves. The Chairman of their Fines Arts Department, Mark Tribe, has given Hunter Biden’s crap art a great review.

I smelled a rat from the onset. There is no way this crapola, that is very reminiscent of the kind of stuff you see at craft fairs, gets a raves from anyone that is a serious art critic.

The name Tribe pricked up my ears.

Sure enough, Mark Tribe is the son of Laurence Tribe, the leftist hack lawyer that shills for any lefty politician, particularly the scummiest of characters.

So, naturally he’s going to say Hunter’s shit is good.

Look at this. This is Hunter creating a masterpiece, one that asshole critics are saying could garner up to 1 million dollars. That’s right, ONE MILLION. For day camp crafts. These are not paintings. They are a technique that is not what one would call a sophisticated one.

For cripes sake he’s blowing on wet watercolor through his CRACK PIPE!!

It’s always the mark of a genius when the signature is gigantic. Makes one wonder if the name is more important than the “art.”

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22 Comments on My Alma Mater Has Always Been a Petri Dish of Leftist Bacteria – Now They Give Hunter Biden’s Amateur Hour Artwork Glowing Reviews

  1. “Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!”

    Isaiah 5:20

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  2. I thought he might include some subliminal images, poking fun at the citizenry for being able to get away with such horrendous crimes. But then I remembered he is a worthless, no talent hack and couldn’t draw a recognizable stick figure if his life depended on it.

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  3. When I went to artnetnews this weekend, I spotted a photo of Hunter, next to the ‘Art World’ section, and the lede, ‘From Hunter Biden’s Life as an Artist to a Brazen Theft at an Italian TV Station: The Best and Worst of the Art World this Week.’

    Turns out, the editors don’t think Hunter’s artwork and his so-called gallerist aren’t the worst. The link took me to a glowing interview with the ‘first son… about his newfound love of painting and how it’s helping him in his quest for universal truth.’ Barf-inducing article and photos here: https://news.artnet.com/art-world/hunter-biden-gallery-show-1979790

    Oh, FFS! If I ever had any doubts about contemporary art being a money laundering scheme, I’m over it. And, now I know the critics, editors, publications and websites must be getting a cut too…

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  4. Absolutely, anonymous. The kickbacks are the thing.“Overpriced schlock art by the politically connected” is the new “$5 million advance on a book by the politically connected”. If W keeps slagging Trump, his paintings might command some high prices one day.

    I’m just surprised that we don’t have more politically connected songwriters like Joe Scarborough. Must not be enough margin in the music industry.

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  5. Here’s a little story I wrote a few years ago that I posted on Ann Coulter’s site.

    Art Made from Excrement in Brooklyn.

    Native American artist Art B. FreeElk is getting rave reviews for his painting “Brown Earth, Red Man”, that is now showing with artwork from other native Americans in the Brooklyn Art Museum.
    The painting was made with various shades of brown for which the colors were extracted from human and animal excrement, including his own, and mixed with oil to make the pigment. The painting is done in a pointillist style where the observer must stand a considerable distance away from it to discern a trio of Indian braves armed with lances. The effect is made by slightly altering the shades of brown until the shape of the braves, reddish brown in a sea of milk chocolate and dark chocolate brown, becomes more obvious.

    In creating his colors, Art B. FreeElk collected excrement from deer, buffalo, antelopes, bears, wolves, and humans. For some shades, such as a the rich reddish brown that forms the human shapes, the artist manufactured it himself by eating a diet of only beets and red velvet cake for two weeks, then harvesting the result. “I couldn’t quite find that rich brown-red that I wanted from existing material, so like the renaissance artists, I created my own color. For the lighter brown tones, I drank only milk and ate white chocolate for two weeks”.

    A recording of Native American drums plays in the background for viewers. In addition, the pungent, earthy smell of excrement is still very noticeable from the work. The artist calls the work “a riot of sensuous effects that simultaneously assault your sight, smell, and hearing. The effect is meant to drive home the fact that we Native Americans are not only brave, but down to earth people unafraid of the so-called ‘dirty’ aspect of life that we, as Indian people, are so close to, and which the white conquerors have succeeded into associating with something bad”.

    The artist claims he was heavily influenced by the work “Piss Christ” by Andres Serrano that was featured in the Brooklyn Art Museum in 1987, and works by various European artists that used blood and other bodily fluids in making their own unique colors.

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  6. It would be more artistic if he were to Spatter Himself at 150 Mph in a rental car against a Concrete Bridge.

    Spatter Himself. Himself. On His own. Voluntarily. By Himself.

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  7. Looks like a top down view of a petri dish. It’s as gross as Hunter himself.

    My art school has gone woke too and it makes me sad. It’s a top school in the midwest that appears to spend all of their social media dollars and recruitment time seeking out the loudest and proudest.

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  8. Who runs art schools, you ask? A cluster of useless soon to be forgotten unfocused twits. Flush them all.
    A note in passing: My rep always contacts me to make sure I’ve signed my work before it’s shipped. I usually don’t sign them . . . until she calls.

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