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?