Nine years. Nine long years in which the world has undergone remarkable transformations: Brexit, Covid, Ukraine, the rise and—let us hope—fall of Trump, and the conclusion of Tory turmoil.
Yet, some constants endure. For nine years, “Framing the Landscape,” that quintessential piece of modern art, that obtrusive metallic eyesore placed in a nature reserve, has been collecting a fine layer of rust. It recalls Duchamp’s urinal but with an air of rustic allure.
The artist, with a depth of vision to shame the most astute seer, declared, “Many people look but only a few see.” A profound philosophical assertion, no doubt. Or perhaps a desperate attempt to elevate the banal to the exalted. This revelatory insight, coupled with the audacious notion of framing a landscape, has, for nine years, surely coaxed us into a greater appreciation of Roseberry Topping—a hill we could admire perfectly well unaided.
Herein lies a quintessential example of the art world’s penchant for self-congratulatory insularity, where mediocrity is lauded and pretension is mistaken for brilliance. Perhaps next time, the artist might consider framing a cloud or an inspiring patch of grass. That would be equally revolutionary, but let it be elsewhere, for we can appreciate the view without such interventions.
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