The Patron Saint of the Painted Word: The Decay of Modernism

THE DECAY OF MODERNISM

I am sorry that Roger Scruton has fallen on such hard times that he had to read a book that “no person of taste” would want to read in order to pick up a reviewing fee. Among the many reviewers who got their knickers in a twist in the course of dealing with my blasphemous challenge to their idol, it was until now Bob Hughes who held the honor for the most bizarre criticism: castigating me for my “pearly teeth: no stains or chips” and for the price of my wedding dress. But step aside, Bob Hughes. Roger Scruton has done you one better. He castigates me for doing what he says I complain Picasso did: using my “sexual attractiveness” in the pursuit of my “desires.” Let me hasten to reassure Mr. Scruton: he does not figure in my plans.

AH

About the Author

Arianna Stassinopoulos Huffington

THE DECAY OF MODERNISM

I am sorry that Roger Scruton has fallen on such hard times that he had to read a book that “no person of taste” would want to read in order to pick up a reviewing fee. Among the many reviewers who got their knickers in a twist in the course of dealing with my blasphemous challenge to their idol, it was until now Bob Hughes who held the honor for the most bizarre criticism: castigating me for my “pearly teeth: no stains or chips” and for the price of my wedding dress. But step aside, Bob Hughes. Roger Scruton has done you one better. He castigates me for doing what he says I complain Picasso did: using my “sexual attractiveness” in the pursuit of my “desires.” Let me hasten to reassure Mr. Scruton: he does not figure in my plans.