Alivia Zivich at MOCAD

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The well connected gallerist, the illuminated object, look at it. The billboard carries the expectation its delivery, information, something, and instead the Rorshach blot returning nothing but yourself. What do you see? Do you see two men, clubs raised, about to do berate a small fondling, locking eyes frozen, petrified by the gaze of another, or Gellar? It doesn't matter, the important part is returning the issue of subject matter to you. The celebrity like the blot is a construct of the viewer, a bland bag allowed to pour desires into. Like Warhol's own blots, Carpenter's Cobain, the important part is you lay on the couch provided and tell me about it.


see too: Merlin Carpenter at Overduin & Co

Puppies Puppies at Vilma Gold

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The sweet blood of all those Disney characters is actually corn, barrels of it, the dream of american heartland rendered sickly sweet, sweeter than sugar and cheaper to produce, our cellular frames now an industrial byproduct delivering and adapting consumers taste for saccharinity without restraint. A debate about whether or not these corny subjects are inherently harmful, their omnipresence in American diets surely presents later in life. The internet's rule 34 once predicted that if it existed there was porn of it, but has come to mean images of childhood cartoons engaging in sexual acts. Sweetness imprints in kids it seems. Rule 34 continues to grow as a google search (though interestingly less so in the UK where this ultra sweetness is not found.)  The corny fantasy without balance is an addictive substance, a better commodity, we never experience nourishment or taste so much as direct dopamine reverb, foods and disney treated to ever more focused scientific research achieving not only a more pleasing product but one never delivering satiation. Artists can at least deliver some form of relief to the fantasy by erotically showing off their ends' bitter taste, a fantasy cornhole.

See too: Venice vs. Triennial