Postmodernism?

I'm browsing through a vast collection of contemporary art at artsy. It is truly impressive, but, and I think it would occur to anyone after 10 minutes of browsing, there is so much angst and fear and paranoid-schizophrenic fragmentation... This, of course, is as much about our epistemological predicament as it is about contemporary art, so, in a sense, all these paintings, lithographs and installations are certainly right to be angsty about the impossibility to appraise the world in its totality. But this is a fearsome situation by itself. If a hundred years ago an artist was still a hopeful figure capable to lead the way, the message today, it seems, is that all of us are pretty much in the same hopeless boat. Hence, perhaps, the oft repeated remark regarding contemporary art: "Anyone could have done that". It is amusing, in this respect, to read about the reception history of Hirst's shark in formaldehyde and his retort "But you didn't, did you?" immediately followed by a story that, well, actually someone did, two years before. This, I believe, is very telling. Just like truth has become whatever we make it to be, so has the value of art. If back in the days the genius of a work of art seemed to be still independent of whether yours or mine puny mind was capable of appreciating it, today more than ever it demands a conscious decision, like the decision to consider the Emperor fully clothed. The notion of "masterpiece", in this sense, has lost its meaning once and, perhaps, for all.