The semi-smiling face of Damien Hirst on the front of the New York Times weekend “Arts and Leisure” section dressed in ghost busters white forced me to focus on this genius of conceptual art. I have a hard time with the term, conceptual art. I am not certain that it means art that is in the process of being conceived, art that is designed to let the viewer conceive what the art is or means or whether it is one of a billion permutations and combinations thereof.
There is no question that Damien Hirst is a genius. I don’t get his art, but I get him. He is in a playground of his own making and there aren’t too many of us that ahve been able to do that. All he needs to do is conceive, a process that I do all day long but for which I don’t get paid.
I have gotten it all wrong so many times in my life that missing conceptual art is just another notch in the belt. I would have liked to be a lead singer in a rock and roll band, but I thought rock and roll was about to die in 1970. Whoops! I should have just conceived myself in that role, but I just didn’t get the concept.