Is this Art? by Paul Curtis

Martin Creed or Damien Hirst
Collins, Gormley which one's worst
A pickled sheep in formaldehyde
A light goes on and off inside
The truth about salt and paper crumpled
Painting by numbers and things untitled
A pile of bricks, an unmade bed
Is this art or is art dead?

I chose this poem because it is rather lighthearted as well as short and sweet, and it brings to mind a subject that often irks me, as an artist of sorts, at one time or another. Those pictures hanging on the walls in the Frist, or in the bathroom of McDonald's, that look simply like paint splatters or shredded paper....should they really be considered art, or are they just what the poem states, a sheep in formaldehyde or a crumpled piece of paper? At times the art can be considered satire (I once saw a toilet titled as "water fountain") but when someone makes millions of dollars off of a piece that took them fifteen minutes of smearing paint around with their left foot..... and then they dont even take the time to name it, instead relying on the oh-so-faithful "untitled", it seems a bit unfair no? Is this art, or is art dead?