You want art? We got art (motherfucker).

Baby and I went to the Whitney biennial preview show a couple of days ago. In summary: imagine every two years I compiled a massive pile of dogshit … imagine I invited a group of people to view this pile of dogshit … imagine 98% of the people just saw a pile of dogshit but were too shy to acknowledge it … imagine 2% were in a deeply introspective mood and took the time looking at dogshit to evaluate existence and accomplished something from it.
Personally, all I remember is a pile of dogshit, apart from one piece that maybe I will never forget by Dawn Clements. There were one or two other okay pieces, but I can’t remember them and I won’t expend the energy to drag them out of the memory I have of that miserable experience I had walking around the show.
In summary, it was like wandering through a used CD store … 50 minutes of complete rubbish … with one moment of extreme joy … which encourages you to search through the rest of the trash on offer, only to leave in utter disappointment, but with one gem in your pocket, which made the trip worthwhile.
I don’t blame the second-hand CD stores, they’re just trying to make a buck, but you’d think the Whitney could at least put a little effort into it.

Stalin wouldn’t have done this (he never would have done this)

I always thought I would be bigger than this … when I was a kid I thought I would take over the world … lately I just can’t wait till the weekend … I know rich people … people who can do things … billionaires … people who could make it happen … I thought they would have taken me under their wing by now … I should have sucked more dick, or, I should have been more discriminate.

Live slow, die old

I think I was about 20 when I quit drugs. I’d already had one overdose and was having trouble concentrating on drawing. Looking back, though, I wish I’d done more. There’s so very, very, very much to do before dying.

The carnal carnival

Tonight me and Pudding (aka “Baby”) went on HK Artwalk. This is an annual event when the local galleries stay open till midnight and offer food by local restaurants. It is traditionally held on March 7th (Wrong design’s birthday) and is traditionally full of art fags. This year they changed to March 11th and it was full of rich French. It is also the first time I have actually paid for a ticket. Me and Baby committed the cardinal sin – we paced ourselves. Stupid, stupid patrons. Free food and wine from 5pm-midnight should = sensual oblivion.
Whenever I get home from looking at “art” I am full of sperm and inspiration.

Post Futurism

“Construction is the arrangement of elements.
The future is not going to build monasteries for priests, or for the prophets and clowns of art.
Down with art as a glittering extravagance in the senseless lives of the wealthy!
One has to work for life, not for palaces, churches, cemeteries and museums.”

I found this in a college sketchbook. It was during my ‘Futurist’ phase (lasted about 1 year).

I wish I was as insistent now, but less unoriginal.