American advertisement: Chinese translation of fine products

Author: (American) Tw, translated by Qu Xiaoli
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-08-01
Features: Tw eloquently condemns the tedious and clichéd rhetoric about the evils of commercialism that is widely accepted. With a truly postmodern stance, he points out that the distinction between high art and advertising is meaningless. Every page of this book is filled with witty sentences, thought-provoking statements, or sensational conclusions. Advertising gives commercialism its soul. It gives you immense power to maintain a high sense of responsibility that inspires and elevates the commercial world. It is the entire work of humanity's rebirth and redemption. In this book, Tw, with a truly postmodern stance, points out that the distinction between high art and advertising is meaningless. This book is engaging and enlightening, yet often radical—just like advertising. A thousand years ago, the crucified Jesus was the focal point of attention: for centuries, people's understanding and appreciation of the male nude, human suffering, and dignity were expressed through the hands of the sculptor of the crucified Jesus. In our contemporary American culture, where the pinnacle of artistic energy is focused seems crystal clear. After watching the heavily advertised Winter Olympics, I am convinced that, whether from excessive effort or from both obvious and subtle effects, the aesthetic miracle of our time is the television commercial. Irish monks once decorated the Book of Kells with religious fervor; the shining images of youthful beauty, heroic strength, racial harmony, and noble friendship march or prance before us with the same fervor, trying to persuade us that a certain brand of beer, a certain type of candy, an insurance company, or an oil conglomerate is like the crucified Jesus—the gateway to a better life. In the past century, the techniques developed by the film industry have been applied here with great expense and effort, reaching the pinnacle of art; television has turned every living room into a cathedral, placing a treasure in it every six minutes—or seemingly more frequently—whose grandeur and devotion are no less than the crucified Jesus by Grünewald or Michelangelo's Pieta. Our entire life—eating, drinking, traveling, feasting, proposing, family joy, and the magnificent consumption of our lives from birth to death—are compressed into an idealized idol plane: people can only marvel and be grateful for the artists involved, who, like Anglo-Saxon poets or Paleolithic cave painters, are known only within their narrow professional circles and are not widely recognized by the world.