Master race masterpieces
Some incensed critics have compared buying a painting by Hitler, as happened with much fanfare this week, to bidding on eBay for the hairball that Britney Spears coughed up after she kissed Madonna (well, maybe that’s a bad example – who wouldn’t want that??)
But the guy was such a Compleat Failure at everything he applied himself to, the dictionary’s definition of bad, that his artistic side will always rank right up there with the great curiosities of evolution.
It’s been said before that, for people like Caesar and Napoleon and Uncle Adolf, the world was a vast canvas, and life the ultimate experiment in aesthetics, with people as pigments and wars and mass murders as the brushstrokes. They considered themselves gods, after all.
Even as a god, though, Hitler was humble enough to admit he wasn’t a very good painter. Neither were the other two amateur daubers who waged World War II, Churchill and Roosevelt. It would have been nice if they could have settled things with a painting competition instead of trying to blow up my dad. I think Churchill might have won too. See the rest.
