Jas is boring. Boring takes on boring things. Yay?!

In ordinary times, I’m sure I would’ve sniffed loudly at this. But the organizers were incredibly smart to roll out the concept when I was at my absolute weakest point of the pandemic, so starved for urban entertainment and eager to have something, anything, to look forward to that I immediately grabbed tickets. I guess I’ll make the best of it. Maybe there’s something going on at Monkey Loft afterwards.

Think I’ll take a pass. I don’t think it could compare to actual, original Van Gogh paintings. I’ll save my dollars for a trip to the Met.

Barf. Are you f***ing kidding me?

An actual Van Gogh painting awesome

Tacky Disneyland treatment. A Kardashianizing.

How refreshing to art critic with the guts to say 'boring'!

What other interpretation than 'literal' did you want? When you also mention that Van Gogh's work is 'sculptural' and 'corrosive', do you expect textured art to transfer into anything else than literal in an immersive experience? I disagree with other commenters who say 'bravo, you are refreshing to be so brazenly dissappointed - and to say it so matter of factly! Well done!'. This is the archetype of the critic, to offer comment, to pass judgement, but without any offering of a solution, past a vague prodding at the holes in the things that others build, all the while, posing ridiculous questions such as 'what would van Gogh think of this?', which I suppose is a question you would ask if you had nothing to say at all, and, not the nearest sniff of accountability or ownership, or dear god help us, justification for your opinion.

Like all things in life, experience it yourself and be your own observer. The eyes of a critic are vacuous, jaded and plagued with a morbid cataract-like disease which obscures life and joy and all manner of things which we may observe with our own.

For goodness sake, this article isn't saying much of anything, and unless it means to be an ironic piece which is to say it mirrors that which it talks about, then it was nothing much to read. How could it be ironic, though? All critics are overflowing with a self-masturbatory thirst for the sound of their own voice and the abject seriousness of their formed up structure into 'opinion'.