Art historians, Art Critics, Art Brokers and Dealers Pompous bags of wind, inflating the sails of a ship that will never sail Full of hype, full of themselves, full of crap Turning nothing into something Spewing toxic dribble from their mouths Talking to hear themselves talk Who is listening? Impressing no one but themselves with their circular talk that leads no where Believing they are on the cutting edge of creative thoughts If you understand what they are saying, then you can’t possibly comprehend If nothing they say makes sense, you are lifted to a higher plain of consciousness Noses in the air, Merlot in a glass, and masks Standing around; everyone stroking each other’s egos Pretending to see into the artists mind Hoping no one will figure them out Afraid to question the other Exposing the scam they have all created Bold, brush strokes, color, composition, genius Buzz words to throw around in crowed, snobbish circles None are artists, but submerge themselves in art Thinking they can create… if not the art…the artist Misguided, and too blind to know it Take away their ignorance and what do they have left? The false façade of empty creativity