Thursday, November 23, 2006
Excess
Excess is named thus for reasons beyond my comprehension. Perhaps it's to do with the decorative, from William Morris to fashion photography that's certainly an element in the work on display. Artist paints anatomically correct motifs onto his skin using traditional henna methods. Woman plans to have tattoo of her working partner's recollection of the wallpaper he lived with as a child.
They steal my heart when they quote Charlotte Perkins Gillman'S The Yellow Wallpaper, '...one of those sprawling designs...committing every artistic sin.'
Not yet sure whether this is sinful. Definitely decadent. From leather sofas dotted with pearl headed pins spelling out a flock of birds, to glossy magazines sewn over pierced and nailed where the female models' skin should be, the concentration is in the details. Meticulous.
The William Morris is in his designs cut out from pages from porn magazines creating delicate laceworks of flesh, suspended in deep frames.
And then the big ones. Huge photo prints by ex-fashion photographer where models picked their own designer clad deaths. Lying in acid bright environments alone in airports or factories, the girls are apparently in a sad situation but seem to well dressed to have regrets.
Excess is free and in place until January at the Angel Row Gallery.
They steal my heart when they quote Charlotte Perkins Gillman'S The Yellow Wallpaper, '...one of those sprawling designs...committing every artistic sin.'
Not yet sure whether this is sinful. Definitely decadent. From leather sofas dotted with pearl headed pins spelling out a flock of birds, to glossy magazines sewn over pierced and nailed where the female models' skin should be, the concentration is in the details. Meticulous.
The William Morris is in his designs cut out from pages from porn magazines creating delicate laceworks of flesh, suspended in deep frames.
And then the big ones. Huge photo prints by ex-fashion photographer where models picked their own designer clad deaths. Lying in acid bright environments alone in airports or factories, the girls are apparently in a sad situation but seem to well dressed to have regrets.
Excess is free and in place until January at the Angel Row Gallery.
I don't wanna grow old
After spending seven hours in a retirement home, I've seen enough. The date is set. Once I hit 50, BAM- I'm out.
Names will be coded and the establishment will be described but not named.
I'm sure there are hundreds just like it.
Nice enough place- clean, in a quiet neighborhood, everyone with their own bed. I chatted with 'Elsa' who was lucky enough to be in a room to herself. From what I heard, she pays through the nose for the privilege. While the other residents eat in the dining room, Elsa takes her meals upstairs in her room. Perhaps because she likes it that way. More likely people complained about her moaning. Her rhythm gets interrupted by noises that mean it hurts or she's confused.
"Mmmmph....well....owwwwwww!
...You see, the funny thing is. When you...as you get older...owwwwwwwwww. Sometimes I......I just...."
I said something and her head snapped round to look straight at me without blinking. That much attention is intimidating. What was I saying? Elsa's face, looks frightened. I'm being melodramatic, at worst she's confused a bit scattered as her connections deteriorate with age. But to think it takes the sort of money she's paying , I don't even know how much but the looks on the faces when it's discussed hint at hundreds, just to be kept going in a room while she's slowly dropping into pieces is enough to make it hard to picture there's still someone in there, who used to earn a wage and hold a conversation and hold a tea cup without assistance, and now starts screaming when the sentences won't line up between brain and mouth. I'm headed that way. The thought terrifies me.
