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In art, all violence becomes symbolic violence, tearing paintings, cursing, showing tits and blood, is an acting out within the proscribed realm of one's own room owned by the hands feeding you, in the bed you've made. Art by its form neuters rebellion to the rebellious act. Aggression in neat little packages, and the louder artists yell the greater the distance between the two parties. The 4th wall's glass thickens and frosts, and no amount of angst, even a level requiring black eyeliner, has ever bridged the divide. This paradox of affect is one of art's central tenets. You just can't yell loud enough. (It works better in text, as Clerk Fluid attests, because we let you into our home.) But so this is why Christoph von Weyhe's paintings look so good in this room of everyone shouting.
