LAST RESORT
Monday, October 30, 2006
last resort(is this art? or the necessity to address the question)
despite the fact that the original letter is for Gregg, we have been cced and invited to respond.
is this a cry for help or a last attempt at undisguised arrogance? the very ambivalence might be the core of the problem or the difficulty to relate which is at the centre of all ills.
I am convinced that Art funding is problematic beyond Cape town, and comments on the issue are pertinent and pervasive, if you have chosen this particular comment as the main dynamic of your practice so be it (might as well buy crack, whores and indulge) but, please do take into account that there exist other practices around just as valid and pertinent, I do not believe there is a degree in the value of pertinence that as artists we can apply to each other( although we can't help doping it somehow) , and the light under which you currently present things doesn't offer much space for discussion and nuance, but rather some strong sense of self-righteousness.
I agree that maybe to access your 'concerns', sharing some form of process might have made a whole difference, but hey... work has to be made, this is not a school, one has to relate, exchange in one 's own term, we might behave as tourist, which eventually we are, the place offers a whole deal of information that can't possibly be dealt with within a month, and i am sure we take responsability for our individual situation, so take yours! by refusing to engage you create the very situation you complain about.
don't know what call for a drink you are talking about...we do function independently not as a collective, and even if some of us were in the same institution, it doesn't mean we necessarily knew each other's work so well or related in the way we have while being here...well you are not interested in whale watching, but are willing to coerce us into some lap dancing bar, well some of us have lived in Amsterdam where we had our fare share of female demeaning in the red light district, is this an economical statement? do we need to share it? indeed the power play conjures up images..., so let me invite you to some SM clubs of Antwerp for some good old fist fucking watching(next time I have money), pardon my frrench...
some people react very well to provacation and their very reaction could be the dynamic of many otherwise not so interesting situation, but what happens when no one reacts?
see you soon
ps: we are in the same boat, however tempting it is to see oneself as a renagade
jimmy robert
posted by Ed Young at 2:07 PM
34 Comments:
Maybe Gregg should invest his donor euros in language and writing workshops for artists. And now we know why Ed and Jimmy make such kak art. They are both brain dead.
fist-fuck hurgh hurgh nrrf nrrf.
I'm the cleverest dutchman in the world, even though my mother is also my aunt. You're all falling for my plan.
of course most people think ed just wrote all of this himself
Fistfucking and sado masochism are so done and so dull. Really, if you want to get anyone's attention they are just not going to help.
How about giving that 14k to people who really need it.
Maybe they could mesh them all up into one thing (ie Sado-masochistly fist fuck Whales in Paris or something). That way all these bitchy-assed concept brats can get what they want. Heck, maybe a whale will eat Ed and he can become a "real boy". That would be cool. Who would have thought talent and body hair were directly proportional.
a generally corrupt relationship
jimmy's hot
Ed, please check out Jimmy's jeans and bare feet. Is Good! Look & learn. But don't try to imitate. Won't work. Too much grace. Can't be bought, not even with 14k.
I'll meet you round the corner in 5 minutes
ok. bring a fish with you.
snoek ok?
ja
cool
cant get snoek...What about a chicken?
free-range?
orangic
ja
alright
inane-ist, onanist, chicanerista, fistula-vista.
So. What about this? Complete the story.
Ed walks into a bar. Orders a drink. He sees Jimmy walk in.
What happens next?
or
Jimmy is in a bar and Ed walks in...
Best answer gets something.
They trade jeans.
zoon deserves a pair of jeans for that
zoom don't wear jeans
don't speak for zoon, zoom
This is what happened: Ed and Jimmy meet by mutual surreptitious arrangement in a bar in Boston, Parow, between a used car lot, a wholesale plastic toy emporium and opposite Ed's Lap Dancing Stud-dio. Jo O Connor is there, she set the whole thing up via a series of anonymous classified ads. They have both come there to meet her, they are both after her jeans. She disapears as they arrive leaving a note stuck to the bar top in a ring of wet beer: "Jean's in the Mens". They alternately sidle or slollop in stepping with finely nuanced disgust ( or layered disdain) over (or through) the disgusting puddles of piss on the floor . Into adjoining booths, jeans are slid down and handed wordlessly over the dividing wall ( alienating membrane ). It is at this penultimate moment that Mona the barmaid and owner's wife peeps suspiciouslty around the corner and screams: "........!!". Of course our boys split like peas in a pod, side by side out the swing doors, united in fear, jeans tangled around ankles, out into the Voortrekker Road midday glare.
Free Ed Young 'Soap on A Rope' to what supplier of what she sceamed?
she screamed "very real time OUT!"
Has this become a Robert Sloon novel? That was also called "The Last Resort"
Driving down Voortrekker Road in Goodwood today past all the banners advising that P. (Frikkie Fish Finger) W. is dead , I noticed that all the central road islands are painted to represent grass, a tennis court green. Along either side of the island, where the tarmac road surface meets the cement kurbstones, fine lines of high weeds have established themselves in the winter. Their real green, impermanent , bangs up against the fading, fake green paint. The blinking lights outside Ed's Lap Joint & the humming of my truck's diesel engine, conspired to create a mood of self-satisfied perceptual glut, rudely interupted by the sight of a fat breasted pidgeon ( I was unable -at speed- to assertain if it was indeed a Cape Roller) apparently hovering over two rather poor plaster of paris representations of running men, arrested in flight as it were, with their jeans tangled around their ankles. It seems that even this most banal stretch of road harbours secret desires, to somehow be more than just a surface, to get down , and up and across, itself layered and layering, in motion, fluid, melting, The cars will have to wait.
piss off penis
And that is the jackpot: Valerie you win: Mona's head appeared in the doorway and screamed "Piss off penis!!!". Valerie, please email your contact details to enable delivery of your prized Soap on a Rope.
The loss of your secret identity will be offset by the sweet clean smell of SoaR, which if you prefer can be hung from a hook in the living room, as a sort of air-freshener-object.
zoon you're a gone dog. Andy moved - I had him dead too.
Blog-up to Rob for a great piece of writing! He saved the day!
this is all very teenage
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