Mythology. It’s the subject of countless paintings. Take Botticelli’s Birth of Venus, for example:
But you know what Botticelli’s problem was? “Venus” wasn’t even real; it’s just a story. I only like paintings about REAL things. Things like … oh, I don’t know … dinosaurs. If you make this painting about a T-Rex, it becomes infinitely more interesting because a.) Dinosaurs are more awesome than pagan deities, and b.) T-Rex looks much more beautiful (and modest) than Venus.
I’m not saying I can draw better than Sandro Botticelli, but lets just say that Girolamo Savanarola wouldn’t have wanted to burn *my* drawing in the bonfire of the vanities. Advantage: me
Rene Magritte, of all the things you could have drawn for The Treachery of Images, you pick a pipe? That is so stupid and boring! Also, duh. Of course it isn’t a real pipe. Duh! Why don’t you keep your self-referential artist jokes to yourself.
Now, if you’d have drawn a T-Rex instead of a pipe, you not only communicate the idea that art can never capture an actual object, but also the challenge of representing that which has never been observed. This is a very deep and complex notion. Once again, T-Rex is the superior subject choice and a catalyst for true artistic and theoretical development.
I would further like to point out that, while this is indeed not a T-Rex, it is also not even a drawing of a T-Rex! It’s really just some binary code! Your mind has officially been blown.
In art, we call this kind of thing “postmodernism.” You wouldn’t understand it unless you were a cutting-edge artist too.
Edvard Munch’s The Scream is a pretty good painting, I always thought. But then one day I looked at it and I was like, “what they hell are you screaming about, bro? You’re just hanging out on a bridge at sunset. It isn’t so bad!”
I don’t know about you, but I don’t have existential crises because existential crises are for wusses. If *I* was screaming about something, I’d have a damn good reason. And that reason would most likely be a rogue T-Rex, because that is my only fear. How’s that for angst, Edvard Munch? A T-Rex is much scarier than trembling with an unknown anxiety as you sense an infinite scream passing through nature.
I call this drawing, The RAWR!! It is a very good drawing.
Washington’s crossing of the Delaware is super famous, mostly thanks to Emanuel Leutze’s iconic 1851 painting of the event.
Listen, Emanual Leutze, your painting is okay. The glaciers in the Delaware River are a bit much, sure, but you were dramatizing the event for your audience. But why not go all out? It’s art! You don’t have to paint real shit! Washington’s dinosaur equivalent is totally T-Rex: they’re both pious, just, humane, temperate, and sincere; uniform, dignified, and commanding. This is obvious to everyone. With this image, I’ve captured the quietly regal and intensely brave composure of a dinosaur fighting for his country. The Parasaurolophus and Pachycephalosaurus are just gravy.
First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen!
Eugéne Delacroix painted “Liberty Leading the People” about the 1830 July Revolution. He chose a goddess/amazon figure to allegorically represent the French spirit of liberty. She’s okay, I guess:
But I must say again, the best allegorical figure is always T-Rex. Who wants to be liberated by some lady who can’t even keep her dress on? Only T-Rex can bring you true freedom (also, he has better décolletage).
France, if you’d just fill your art with scary things like T-Rexes, people wouldn’t think you were so wussy. Here’s the equation, for future reference:
dinosaur + gun + skulls of your enemies = Art with a Message.
I hereby submit this design for all future French postage stamps.
People are always reenacting Grant Wood’s “American Gothic.” Let me just put that trend to rest with this drawing. Just because you found a pitchfork doesn’t mean you need to take a picture of yourself looking dour. Resist the urge!
For the record, if two T-Rexes were trapped in a doomed and loveless marriage and had to live in an ugly house with someone they despised while eking out a bare existence during a time of national hardship, one would probably just eat the other one. Take that, middle American values of the 1930s!
Do you know what’s missing in art? Metaphor. Take David’s “The Death of Socrates,” and note how boring the picture is:
What a missed opportunity, David. What’s even going on? Where’s the action? Where’s the tension? And more importantly, what in the hell is Socrates pointing at? Nothing! And yet, with the simple addition of a T-Rex, the drama has increased tenfold. We also get to interpret the metaphorical implications of the dinosaur (is he injustice? violent impulse? intolerance? Anti-Intellectualism? We can never know for sure). What was once dull and uninspired is now rich with meaning and artistic merit. You’re welcome.