What's the saying? Dance with the devil, the devil don't change. He changes you. That's a quote for everyone who is trying to figure out how to sell art with out selling their soul. Good luck. It's becoming clear that the machine - you know what I mean by the machine - can now absorb any new art form, trend, medium or method. Any form of artistic rebellion seems over before it begins. Every revelation offered by the art community is gobbled up, repackaged and sold. Every evolution finds a corporate sponsor. No matter how revolutionary your art, know this - it will be absorbed and turned into pop culture pap. If it isn't, it's probably because you suck - not because it's so avant-garde. Even if the form remains, the spirit has changed once it appears in an art mausole - I mean museum, magazine, or on some fat-cat's wall. It's the same data, of course - but it's become the aesthetic equivalent of grocery store vegetables. It just doesn't taste like it should. It doesn't have the life it once did.

Often, the solution to this conundrum is to give up and make whatever sells. Stuff it into the pigeonhole and hope someone stuffs some money back through. If you're creative enough, you can convince yourself that following trends is what you actually want to do - that it's a reflection of your soul. Never mind that it suddenly seems to reflect everyone else's soul as well. Never mind that a slightly different reflection of your soul appeared last week in Juxtapose, and that it was created by someone who isn't you.

This is the joke that's been played on us all. It's an old joke. Hell, it's a cliché at this point. If you think you're not one of those people - the one's who've sold their soul to sell art - you might be right. But probably not.

There can only be so many people painting post-modern pop-culture icons with a silly twist - you know, like the pope hitting a bong or some other boring shit like that. There can only be so many people painting nude portraits of manga-goth vixens with enormous tits. There can only be so many people painting surrealist fantasy landscapes. There can only be so many celebrations of badass women, sensitive men, revolutionary pride and the end of the world before it all begins to lose it vivre - before they become as dead as the realities they sought to replace. In fact, these days, it happens almost instantly.

Dada, surrealism and situationism tried their best to dispel this curse. But half the crap I see in art rags these days is Dada to the core, and appears alongside Sketchers ads. Sure, there's some revolutionary spirit left in there somewhere, but it doesn't have half the guts of an old Clint Eastwood movie or the rantings of a street-corner preacher. Perry Ferrell was right. Nothing's shocking. I've already explained why.

So what's an artist to do? Quit? Nope. Be smarter than the devil. More on that next week.

Joe Malik is a jaded, ornery, "power to the people type" that can't help but comment on all the stupid and or questionable stuff he sees within the arts community. The Volcano doesn't always agree with what he says, they just like to stir the pot.