Thursday, December 16, 2021

"the 19th century's joke was painting faces positioned next to flowers and 20th century's joke was painting a face like it was flowers. Now what? A face is just the putty we rearrange in hopes of arranging something like meaning. An endless mine to profit from, our faces. Something we can pump."

Leave our faces alone. Be nice to our faces. Be tender. Love them. Like a mother would. Stop expelling on them, peeling them, colorful horror on them. At one end of culture we've got advertising turning us all into real dolls, and the experimental end turning us into polychrome wreckage. I want to feel like I have something worth more than torture attached to me.  I want the painting equivalent to wearing sunscreen, to eating a banana, to staying out of the light.