Art exhibit, DTLA.
Yard sign, North Hollywood.
King Ziggy moves slowly because he doesn’t have to move for anyone. He watches and waits, fat and pleased with himself.
In related news, the most commercially successful artist at the Brewery Art Show yesterday may have been Pudge the Cat.
Pudge’s “work.” He sits inside of empty delivery boxes and nibbles them into “sculpture.” His parents bring the carcasses to the gallery and affix price tags. No joke. They sold this box from West Elm for $1500. Allegedly.
His “leavings”, which they also sell. Allegedly. When I saw this I assumed it was all a put on, until two cat ladies entered the studio, greatly excited, and asked very furtively if Pudge was “up”. He was napping, they were told, and left disappointed.
Ziggy’s work: ridding the yard of vermin, and bringing the remains into the house as tribute. We pay him in kibble. In Van Nuys, we call this the chain of nature.
What if we framed his kills in little plexiglass containers? Put them under spotlights atop plinths? Titled it Rosemary’s Kitty: Cat Work and Intersectionality, (Re) Imagined. Could we pay the mortgage? Isn’t that the dream of talentless hacks across the city?
Remember, we all must die.
Down at the Geffen Contemporary freezers run 24/7 preserving that which cannot be preserved… meat and driftwood and man’s creation, from birthday cakes to tennis shoes to bicycles, the vanity of earthly life arranged like bouquets…a memento mori for the anthropocene. There is no heaven nor hell depicted by Adrian Villar Rojas, only the opulence of decay, and man’s fruitless quest for immortality. He is coy on the topic of the soul. He places fish strategically, though perhaps ironically, throughout the exhibit, which is massive, 100 trucks of earthworks and salvaged pieces from prior exhibitions to form a stuffed timepiece, a man-made fossil. I suspect he doesn’t believe in divine judgment, though he trades on it.
What I really wonder is what Rojas would make of the Defenders of Boyle Heights. If they crossed the river to picket his installation, would he hand them bullhorns and cheer them on, thereby defanging them? Envaginating them, to employ a more proper metaphor, within his own work:
“Villar Rojas sees each project as an educational opportunity not only for those who visit the exhibition but equally so for himself. The institutions are given an opportunity, in turn, to reconsider the use of their own architectural assets, filtered or focused through the lens of Villar Rojas’s highly attuned sensitivities..this invasive dynamic allows Villar Rojas to develop an almost—in his own words—“parasitic relationship” with the institution; it is in this radical dialogue and exchange where both the artist-parasite and the institution-host explore the limits of what is possible and what is not, what is acceptable and what is not, what is negotiable and what is not. Ethics and politics, no less than agency and decision-making, are at stake in the project, opening a series of tough questions: When and where does a project actually begin?”
“Artist-parasite”…Adrian and the picketers are already speaking the same language, separated only by a million dollars in funding.
Remember, our disappearance will be theatrical.
I don’t understand why I like this picture so much. Maybe it’s because I took two others within an hour, one in which she looked ten years older, very poised, and another where she appeared ten years younger, child like. Her life could go in any one of four different directions from this moment, and we could look back and say, yeah, you can see it in her face. Vulnerable, yearning, secretive and self-possessed in different measure. To be seventeen is to be elastic.
We’d walked through the secret stairs of Whitley Heights, then we went to Birds for a nostalgic and very disappointing meal, and on the way back to the car I told her to stop in this doorway. She turned around, and for an increment of time wasn’t trying to look pretty. She was Mona Lisa. I suppose this means I like it for what she’s hiding from us.