I think art died in the 19th century when it became separated from life (and frankly-to a large extent-from religion). The whole mythos of the tortured bohemian soul whose main purpose in life is to "shock the bourgeoisie" with his or her anguish-laden crap. Early modern art at least was interesting-today's stuff is running on fumes.
This people began as a nation of sturdy farmers, close to the earth, abstemious, hard-working, strong-muscled delvers and hewers, becoming through their very capacity for enduring hardship and taking blows the strongest people in antiquity. But their very strength and their unflagging industry turned them into a nation of grabbers and cadgers, living off their neighbors, converting their mother city into a gigantic mouth and stomach, sucking in foods, booty, works of art, slaves, religions, gods, and scraps of knowledge, turning every refinement of culture, every decency of daily life, into something at once lurid and brutal, sensational and disgusting, pretentious and meaningless.