Technically Brilliant, Emotionally Dead

What makes something overrated? Surely it is that acclaim and praise that has been bestowed upon it has been largely accepted as the general consensus. When people suggest something is the greatest and others nod in agreement for fear of speaking ill of that which should not be derided or criticised.

With that in mind, I want to introduce you to the most overrated piece of art in my humble opinion. Prepare to lose your sanity to its majesty as I have already lost mine trying to and failing to defend Leonardo da Vinci's incomparably pristine but fundamentally soulless and dull Mona Lisa.

Meanwhile, Botticelli was lighting a torch under the Renaissance world's ass.

Look. It's nicely done and Leo definitely had a knack for golden-ratio proportions and whatnot, but do I think it deserves the acclaim it received? Not really.

I don't even think she is particularly lifelike anyway. The fact that she has an ambiguous face makes her feel deeply unhuman to me.

It just leaves me feeling like I want to see something more interesting. Like watching paint dry.

Leonardo, you did well. Your masterpiece is certainly something to be consumed in quiet reflection.

Quiet, cold reflection.

Famed for her ambiguity and any number of secrets that lie beneath the layers of robes she adorns.

Oh, Mona, why do so many people lose their fucking minds over your mastery?

Sure, you have elegance, and Leonardo did a remarkable job of convincing art to breathe and live.

For me, though, that kind of perfection can feel almost soulless. Balanced harmony, anatomical brilliance and technical mastery aren't necessarily what make art unforgettable.

I'm not trying to piss off Da Vinci fans—I don't care enough. When I compare a da Vinci to something like a Picasso, I see no comparison in how much I feel.

That may be my failing, and perhaps I just don't see what the massive throng of Da Vinci acolytes see. But that's the beauty of art. Its subjective nature.

As an Italian, it pains me not to love everything Italian—especially something so many bestow such adulation upon. Especially as people have been trying to convince me for five fucking centuries that it's the best thing since paint met canvas.

However, I've really always been more of a Caravaggio man, so perhaps that explains it.

And if I'm honest, outside of Italian greats, Munch, Bosch, Picasso and Magritte move me more.

Where the Mona Lisa leaves me emotionally distant, Picasso's wild and vivid L'Atelier leaves me feeling many things.

Leonardo may well have perfected the use of oil to bring a visual treat of realism to life, but with his fragmented, misshapen abstraction, Picasso encourages us to participate, to question, and to experience what it feels like to be an artist—to be a creator.

More often than not, that's exactly what I try to achieve with my own poetry.