The Turner Prize

It’s time once again for the Turner Prize, one the most prestigious awards in the art world and an annual bellwether of the intellectual vapidity of the critical establishment. This year, the results are… pretty good, actually. For the first time ever, the award went to a woman – Tomma Abts – and her discipline, painting, is one that requires a certain degree of genuine skill. More surprisingly, her works are actually quite attractive, albeit in a bland, corporate-lobby-art sort of way. At least her art can be displayed, which automatically gives it an advantage over last year’s winner, whose artistic achievement was “dismantling a shed, making it into a boat, then turning it back into a shed again”.

Ms. Abts faced stiff competition, however. Her rivals included sculptor Rebecca Warren, whose exhibits included “displays of found objects, including bits of fluff, twigs, and a discarded cherry stone”. You may think that picking random junk off the sidewalk and putting it on a pedestal is a pointless activity that requires no skill and probably shouldn’t be called “art” at all. But then you’re clearly too much of a philistine to appreciate the true intellectual depth and complexity that is contemporary art.