Augh! My life’s work! My dream, my vision! <staggers about the room, wailing and rending garments>
I know what I’ll do. I’ll sublimate my ambitions and talent to ensure that Case Sensitive (and what an appropriate name! It’s meant, I tell you!) becomes the defining Artiste of Our Time.
Dada! Wait for me–I’ll only be a Monet…
Don’t Dali - there’s no time Toulouse.
Signs don’t always help!
Well, last summer in Minneapolis, a garden of authentic native prairie grasses & wildflowers in front of a YWCA & Public school was mowed down by city contractors, after a city inspector had issued a violation notice because the prairie garden exhibit exceeded the city height limit of 8" for lawns.
The garden had a large sign explaining the garden, including pictures & info about each of the native species. Employees did manage to stop the city workers before they knocked down the signs, however.
The Native Landscaper, who worked 3 years to develop the garden, hopes that some of it might grow back. But it was cut so short that many of the plants aren’t expected to come back this year.
And, of course, the owner of the land had assessments added to his tax bill to pay for the city workers who mowed down this native prairie garden.
My garden is a weed installation too, especially under the Camaro on blocks: I just need a catchy title for the grant application and I’ll be farting through silk.
“Growth and Abandon”
Not bad, but I probably need to do something clever with colons, brackets and slashes: Re/Growth: {States Of} Abandonment looks sufficiently impressive, I think.
On second thoughts, better work a pun in there too. Curators like puns. **Re/Growth: {States Of} Wild Abandon **
Ooh, a performance piece!
Funny. I finished the whole thing in 20 minutes. In any case, it seems their primary collectiing rationale is “Found by Scott Wilson in trash.”
Conceptual artist leaves broken eggs in an alley. Performance artist cleans up the alley.
Ooh, can I be an artist, too? I have a mound of stuff in my living room that is waiting to be thrown out or given away to charity. I also have five or so garbage bags full of old shag carpet from my bedroom - I guess I should just keep those and display them (actually, I can display them in the alley. Until Tuesday morning.) I need some good, pretentious titles here - any ideas?
“Yonic”. Any form of receptacle can never be too Yonic. Filling bags with worn-out furry old carpets; well, you’re challenging all sorts of phallogocentric paradigms right there by reclaiming a female space which has been historically invaded and usurped - carpet-bagged, if you will, a play of tropes neatly mirrored in the expert choice of materials in your mixed media - by conventional symbols of masculinity. For instance, sticking an inch-and-a-half of cigarette butt into a moist vaginal beer-can. You’re transgressing this traditional {and, by your implication, worn-out} heterosexually male binary dialectic of 1/0 - phallus and vagina - and creating a new, yet inherently mutable transformative space which is nevertheless a mode of transition in itself: this could be conceptually expressed as 0/0, thus demonstrating that the rendition of the conventionally received dialectic, the binary opposition of One/Nil {expressing as it does the assumption that 1>0} is figuratively Null and Void. This could indeed be conceptually expressed as a formula: {0*0}>1, and I would thus suggest a title along the lines of Yonic {Carpet} Squared: Rug/Munchers
You seriously need to consider a career change, my friend. You were born to this!
Um…yup. That’s where they get most of 'em. However, if you made it through all the galleries in 20 minutes, you aren’t looking hard enough.
Am I the only one who thought this was hilarious? I’m still giggling over here. 
My ex and her friend once turned up a bit worse-for-wear to the launch of an art show in a gallery in Hong Kong. Arriving in the venue, they saw some bouncy looking cushions in the corner, and thought it would be fun to sit on them. This they did.
Alas, the “cushions” turned out to be inflated garbage bags, which popped. The girls landed on the floor in a heap, and looked up to see about a dozen horrified faces looking down at them: it had been a concept art piece.
The shame was so great that they left immediately and never contacted the person who’d invited them again.
Nope, you’re not the only one.
It’s kind of scary how good you are at this, Case Sensitive.
Oh, I forgot - now do the mound of stuff in my living room waiting to be thrown out/given away!
How about the cat hair dust bunnies collecting in every corner of my house?
(It’s not that I’m such a terrible housekeeper - we’re renovating! Um, actually, most of it is because I’m a terrible housekeeper, but we are renovating, and that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.)
You don’t live with a crazy Art History lecturer for a couple of years without picking up a few tricks.