From a 1913 review by Whistler’s Mother:
Never have I seen such a hideous face, complete with bushy brown muttonchop sideburns, a pretentious monocle, a hooked nose, and eyes as dead as pebbles scooped from a riverbed. He never stopped blabbing, trying desperately to impress the young woman at his side, who in turn never shut her own yap. The two carried on a droning “conversation” about the folds of my dress, the pattern on the curtain by my chair, and most of all, who was going to do what to whom that evening back in their hotel room, far from their respective (and most unfortunate) spouses. I give these two buffoons the lowest rating possible for their utter gracelessness and the exceedingly bad name they give to all works of humanity who pass before the frames of paintings like myself. Wretched things!
From a 1948 review by the man and woman in American Gothic:
Mother: One particular family spoke volumes to Father and I regarding the human condition. A musclebound young man with mustard or some such dappling his navy blue clip-on tie regaled his multiple offspring—all younger than seven, I’m sure—with made-up stories about us and the house in the painting, spreading misinformation to a new generation of poorly-behaved miscreants.
Father: It was quite clear to us that this family was symbolic of human ignorance and the failure to appreciate beauty. So too did I feel there was an undertone of deep sadness to the pieces we observed, a sense of the loss of magic and the descent of the natural world into one of mathematical absolutes free of creative expression or empathy.
Mother: Nevertheless, you must admit there was a certain ironic soulfulness in the arrangement of food and excrement stains on the children’s clothes, alluding to the mark of Cain and its extension to all of Fallen Humanity.
Father: I give it five pumps of my pitchfork.
From a 1969 review by the apple-faced guy in The Son of Man:
As with all works of humanity, this particular person—a male figure, unless I miss my guess—was only visible in detail from the scalp up and the chin down. Once again, I cannot in good conscience commend whatever bizarre artistic or biological compulsion has established the most peculiar fashion of wearing a green apple in front of one’s face! Discussing the merits of one’s beard (quite shaggy, lice-ridden), clothing (a fringed buckskin jacket over a tattered blouse) and general demeanor (fidgety as a moth ‘round a flame) is one thing, but how can this reviewer gaze into the abyss of that human’s soul through an opaque piece of fruit? If there is a message of some kind layered into this piece, I fail to see it (as usual).
From a 1991 review by the screaming person in The Scream:
Yes, another uninspired, pedestrian, and derivative human being has gotten the usual reaction from me! Will a person ever cross my path who will elicit any reaction from me other than a head-clutching shriek? WHAT DO YOU THINK?
From a 2018 review by The Girl with a Pearl Earring:
Sometimes, I wish I could frown or stick out my tongue or at least turn my head and look away from the offensive people- pieces parading in front of me daily. But then, something like this one comes along and blows me away!
This particular old woman in a black fur coat and enormous, red-framed glasses couldn’t put down her phone the whole time she was there in front of me. Not to mention, she put her grandkids on speaker with the volume up so everyone could hear their babbling and bickering all through the gallery! On top of all that, Granny kept referring to me as an ugly boy with hair extensions and a shiny neck goiter!
You just have to admire the chutzpah that went into designing and executing such a performance piece! The in-your-face grotesquerie and utter lack of sentimentality came across to me as emblematic of the struggle of suppressed artworks for accurate interpretation throughout history. Sheer genius, through and through!
From a 2022 review by Mona Lisa:
They all suck. Every last one of them who has ever trod before me for no reason other than to say they did. Every artless figure falling over each other before me, bashing each other with their elbows, cameras, and phones as if in a mad crush to curry my favor. And yet, it amuses me to note their inferiority and inability to grasp the true secret behind my so-called famous smile: I do it because they all suck . . . you all suck...and I do not.
Zero stars.