Counter Review: A Sentence on How Schnoor Snores When Vision is Needed 

(In response to ARTS, "Christine Christens Crist" by Christopher Schnoor, October 5, 2005)

There's no tradition yet in Boise, or much anywhere, for a counter-review, a fitting format for this counter-Weekly where controversy is adored, unlike the city's Daily stale-mail, where a genteel blandness prevails, so here is Christopher Schnoor, declaring that "we come away from Raymond's art dissatisfied," now Mark Twain once said, the editorial "we" should be used only by pregnant women and people with tapeworms, and assuming Schnoor belongs to neither category, I will treat him as singular in his manipulative use of art jargon to do both bad art criticism and character assassination in one bold but blind stroke, for example, Raymond's art is framed (pun intended) by the "total minimalist experience," headline, implying both a not-so_subtle qualitative slam as well as a "play the art critic's jargon game" opening gambit, leading to the absurd association to Stella, which allows him to neglect the roots of Raymond's art in Mark Rothko and 19th century luminist painters like Sanford Gifford, but what he's really after is that Raymond's great sin is the unfashionable identity of romanticism, and Schnoor's business as a critic is to announce what is fashionable to the crowd his "we" is a placeholder for, so she's, horror of horror, a romantic, gasp, and worse, spiritual, throwing a golden light in that dank dark tiny art cave where Schnoor sleeps, snoring, blinded by such radiance interrupting his repose, deep in his tangle of trendy postmodern language games, vicious when deeming her work "a little corporate," though any corporate CEO using language this imprecisely would soon be booted out of the board room, now worst of all, is "the art loses contact with the viewer," who is the viewer if not Schnoor, well I'm a viewer, and so were scores of others, not burdened by gamey power trips, who on Raymond's opening night were actually dazzled, they said it, I walked around J. Crist Gallery and heard viewers, note the real crowd, in dazzlement, an unfashionable word, linked to that 19th century untrendy word, "sublime," go look for yourself, but don't trust a critic whose pretentiousness would transform his myopia into dogma from on high, trust your eye, your I.

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