LANDFILLUS - INTERRUPTUS
This is not going to be pretty. Having recently been asked by the Volcano to review an installation or "Body Of Work" created by a local, but stubbornly anonymous, "Artist" and placed (or misplaced) on the Middle Floor at Sanford and Son, I submit to you, the reader, the following; In the form of advice:
Stay Home. Don't Go. It Sucks.
Now, I realize that the sacred cow/naked emporer format that somehow has always passed for "Art" in the cultural desert of Tacoma has been notoriously bleak, seedy, shallow, confusing, childish, kinky, desperate, wanton and especially, narcissistic. This "showing" however, takes the cake. While I'm thinking of it, let me also just say this: As Reviewer, I should be able to say anything I feel about it-why? Because the "Artist" has chosen to hide his/her identity. Therefore I can be as vitriolic as my honesty and good taste dictate.
What on earth is this person's obsession with Breasts? I assume it's some guy who was improperly weaned that compiled this assault on the senses, as well as motherhood. If it wasn't done by a dude deeply scarred by malfunctioning nipples in his early years, then it had to have been done by a raging alcoholic militant local lesbian; of which we have plenty around here - (not that there's anything wrong with that.)
Knockers. Mostly Doorknockers. That's what we're supposed to believe the majority of the "Pieces" are. As I was able to ascertain from what few of the sober, yet shadowy, figures flitting about in the Sanford and Son building, all of the elements and materials used in the comprising of these "Works" were once destined for the Landfill. "Found Objects" all, they were somehow intercepted by our anonoperson and assembled into what I was forced to visually, as well as manually, masticate. (You are invited to knock the Knockers), we've got Backdoor Knockers, Frontdoor Knockers, No Soliciting Knockers, Dead Doorknockers, Knicker Knockers, Peeping Voyeuress Knockers and my favorite: The Deerknocker; a mangy old dead deer head shot eighty years ago by either Jerry Meeker or Jerry Springer - I forget - and mounted on an 1890's Gothic door stolen from the old church in Ruston. Now, that might actually be art, but I'm not sure I know anymore, as I've been desensitized.
I have this to say to he/she who slithers around amid the mental chaos and moral turmoil that oozes from every crack and corner down at Sanford and Son perpetrating upon the unsuspecting and innocent eyes of the general populace of Greater Tacoma: Step forward admit what you have done and apologize, then finish what you started by taking your "Body Of Whatever -It -Is" to where it belongs - The yawning jaws of the Pierce County Landfill.
Other that that, I only have two words to say: "Re" and "Hab." If anyone wants to talk to me, I'll be at Meconi's Pub, slumped over a glass of Bud Lite, sobbing.
A. G. is the author of Blah Blah and typed by someone anonymous.....Blah-Blah
Stay Home. Don't Go. It Sucks.
Now, I realize that the sacred cow/naked emporer format that somehow has always passed for "Art" in the cultural desert of Tacoma has been notoriously bleak, seedy, shallow, confusing, childish, kinky, desperate, wanton and especially, narcissistic. This "showing" however, takes the cake. While I'm thinking of it, let me also just say this: As Reviewer, I should be able to say anything I feel about it-why? Because the "Artist" has chosen to hide his/her identity. Therefore I can be as vitriolic as my honesty and good taste dictate.
What on earth is this person's obsession with Breasts? I assume it's some guy who was improperly weaned that compiled this assault on the senses, as well as motherhood. If it wasn't done by a dude deeply scarred by malfunctioning nipples in his early years, then it had to have been done by a raging alcoholic militant local lesbian; of which we have plenty around here - (not that there's anything wrong with that.)
Knockers. Mostly Doorknockers. That's what we're supposed to believe the majority of the "Pieces" are. As I was able to ascertain from what few of the sober, yet shadowy, figures flitting about in the Sanford and Son building, all of the elements and materials used in the comprising of these "Works" were once destined for the Landfill. "Found Objects" all, they were somehow intercepted by our anonoperson and assembled into what I was forced to visually, as well as manually, masticate. (You are invited to knock the Knockers), we've got Backdoor Knockers, Frontdoor Knockers, No Soliciting Knockers, Dead Doorknockers, Knicker Knockers, Peeping Voyeuress Knockers and my favorite: The Deerknocker; a mangy old dead deer head shot eighty years ago by either Jerry Meeker or Jerry Springer - I forget - and mounted on an 1890's Gothic door stolen from the old church in Ruston. Now, that might actually be art, but I'm not sure I know anymore, as I've been desensitized.
I have this to say to he/she who slithers around amid the mental chaos and moral turmoil that oozes from every crack and corner down at Sanford and Son perpetrating upon the unsuspecting and innocent eyes of the general populace of Greater Tacoma: Step forward admit what you have done and apologize, then finish what you started by taking your "Body Of Whatever -It -Is" to where it belongs - The yawning jaws of the Pierce County Landfill.
Other that that, I only have two words to say: "Re" and "Hab." If anyone wants to talk to me, I'll be at Meconi's Pub, slumped over a glass of Bud Lite, sobbing.
A. G. is the author of Blah Blah and typed by someone anonymous.....Blah-Blah
I dig your writing...and look forward to the next!
ReplyDelete