Friday, October 26, 2012

Notes Of Ideas Of Pieces Of Sculpture I Would Love To Try To Make If I Live Long Enough And Am Somehow Able To Retire And Have The Time And The Space To Make Such Things:

#1. Hyper real, life sized, hairy, dead obese man (350 to 400 lb range) in perfect fetal position upon a concrete floor. We do not see his face, only the back of his head (curly, greasy, greying black hair), as it is tucked into his flabby arms. The poor fuck had shit himself at death (shit spray ring smeared around his gaping ass about the size of say, a standard sized frisbee, and a rat sized turd with tail to boot slipping out from his hard, swollen ring). The man is pasty white or blue or purple or black or reddish in places depending upon information gathered of such things from the internet (perhaps try to talk to some FX movie guru? shit, man, you know people!). The piece should be displayed in the center of an enclosed space. Lighting is key. Maybe either a dusty old pendant lamp or one lone 40 or 60 watt bulb (clear one where you can see the filament) buzzing from above at viewers eye level (again, talk to Jim Vermeulen or someone). The piece is called NED.  

Monday, October 15, 2012

Sunday Brew

     It was around 1:30 in the afternoon and I still hadn't shit. Sarah and Henry were out getting groceries. I had just finished watching a pig get slaughtered on Youtube. It was somewhere in the Philippines, a sow. They had her on her back while they tied her legs together. She seemed to trust the men. Or perhaps she had simply given in to her fate? She had two rows of pink sharp nipples and she seemed to be looking over at the pile of coals which were burning hot not 6 feet away. Over the men's voices, children could be heard laughing in the background. One of the men knelt down with a knife while the other men held her tight. He made the cut and the blood poured out. He tossed the knife and brought a plastic bucket up to the slit on her neck to collect the flowing juice. Her legs trembled and her body heaved but she didn't make a sound. After that, I got up and poured myself another cup of coffee. I had worked till 4:00 a.m. the night before. 41 years old and I was back working at a bar. All the glory gone as if it never happened. A line from one of Henry's books came to mind, "Un-slumping yourself is not easily done." That Dr. Seuss! The furnace kicked on as I sat back down on the couch. Another winter looming. I went on Facebook. Many people were posting about some dude who was about to jump out of a balloon at the edge of space. If he didn't die, he would be the first parachutist to break the sound barrier. I wished him well but I was simply not interested. I then saw a picture of an old friend and his pretty wife who were on vacation somewhere. My friend looked far too old, as old as my father. His hair was grey and his beard was grey and his eyes looked tired and empty. He was many years younger than me and very successful. I thought about that poor pig again. I saw her face, I looked into her dying eyes. Then, finally, my bowels began to unlock. I closed the computer and got up to take my shit.