A blog by an artist (but not really about art).
We generally describe something as ‘eclectic’ when it is uncertain or lacks criteria, a spiritless intellectual process, a set of choices that established no coherent vision. By considering the adjective ‘eclectic’ pejorative, common parlance accredits the idea that one must lay claim to a certain type of art, literature or music, or else be lost in kitsch, having failed to assert a sufficiently strong – or quite simply locatable – personal identity.
This shameful quality of eclecticism is inseparable from the idea that the individual is socially assimilated to his or her cultural choices: I am supposed to be what I read, what I listen to, what I look at. We are identified by our personal sign consumption, and kitsch represents outside taste, a sort of diffuse and impersonal opinion substituted for personal choice. Our social universe, in which the worst flaw is to be impossible to situate in relation to cultural norms urges us to reify ourselves.