Remembering Robert Rauschenberg
Robert Rauschenberg died Monday night at the age of 82. The world has lost an extremely talented and exceptionally prolific artist.
It’s odd, for some reason I knew he was going to die this year. I wish I had a better sense of my own matters.
It should be obvious that he was a huge influence on me and one of the few creative heroes of mine — sadly, most of them have passed away. I was familiar with his work but I didn’t get into it until I was in college. I was attracted to it because it was similar to a lot of the things I was doing and continue to do. I was surprised to find he stole a lot of my ideas and techniques — yes, I’m aware he did them way before me.
In my senior year of college I did my thesis for contemporary art history class on The 1/4 Mile or 2 Furlong Piece, sort of a one-piece retrospective of his long career that was almost 1,000 feet long when it was shown at MASS MoCA in 2000. The paper was titled “Robert Rauschenberg’s Enormous P… hurumph… Painting,” which is available for download if you’d like to read more about it and glean further evidence of how poor my writing skills were.
This is Trivial
The death of Polaroids, photobooths, letters, postcards, and other analog things I love; my woes about trying to connect with other humans; my art projects; and everything else I blog about seem so trivial right now. Loneliness, seasonal depression, regretting things I’ve said or didn’t say, fearing I didn’t try or tried to hard, stress from work, missed opportunities, missing or ignoring the obvious, and all the other things I whine about are petty problems compared to the real suffering others experience.
I’d rather not say why I feel this way — some things are too personal, especially family matters, to put on here for all to see.
I’m a total asshole (realizing it more everyday), but the people from Hospice are not. They’re a wonderful organization that provide a great service. Please make a donation if you can.
Lee Hazelwood
Lee Hazelwood left this planet on Saturday. Right now, WFMU re-airing an interview from 1999 and playing a bunch of his songs.
Filed Under: Audio Delights + Death
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Plastination Passion
I just received an email with the subject titled “Body Donation” from the Body Worlds people and it caught my scatterbrained attention. When or if (I’m betting on the former) I die, my organs with be harvested—the few usable ones—and my body will be Plastinated. Yes, my current vessel with exist forever. I told them my reason for donating my body was that I wouldn’t need it. Although, that’s not nearly as good as “people always said I was beautiful on the inside” as Vitamin K said, but she has yet to send in the forms—or have you?
Damn, I wish I could see it. Even though I’ve seen the inside of my body many times, which is why the looking at blood, bones, guts, etc. have never bothered me—once you see your own, nothing phases you. A friend of mine even suggested I become an EMT—hey, it worked for Kiki Smith. That’s not a bad idea because I like fast-paced work, anatomy, and helping people.
Which reminds me, I almost exchanged this piece for an opportunity to watch a surgery, but the doctor never got back to me. He wanted to hang it in his office. Oh well, I like it in my living room.
Body Worlds 2
It’s official. We’re going to see Body Worlds 2 in Montréal next week. I’m so excited that I’m going to use two exclamation points!! And I might actually be smiling. I plan on staying there all day gawking and capturing the bodies with pencil and camera. I will definitely submit a full report when I return. Everyone should… nay, everyone must see this exhibit. It’s showing May 10–September 16 at the Montréal Science Centre.
Finally, I get to see the real thing. I tried to see it in Boston over the winter, but plans fell apart. Two years ago, I saw a knockoff exhibit in San Francisco called The Universe Within (the name sounds like a new age journey of self-discovery or the place you go after scoring an illegal substance in a park). I didn’t realize it wasn’t sanctioned by Dr. von Hagens—that would explain why the exhibit was leaking.
Regardless, I was… was… speechless and still am. When we walked into the exhibit we all stopped talking and our mouths dropped. The displays were amazing: intact circulatory system, intact nervous system, the brain of a stroke victim that looked like it had a scab on it, the full bodies in various positions, and so much more that I can’t put into words. We didn’t speak to each other the entire time. When we finally left, three hours later, we went across the street to Grace Cathedral for some reason.
Speaking of bodies, I just got word that Dita von Tesse (a.k.a. the girl of my dreams, who’s single now and should call me) is coming out of retirement to perform at the Museum of Sex (MoSex, ha) in NYC on May 16th. Damn, it sucks that I have all this time but no money.
I don’t know if I’ll post a journal page tonight. Maybe later or tomorrow. I think I’ve been posting way too much on here lately. I’ll give everyone a chance to catch up.
Filed Under: Anatomy + Death + Photobooths
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Kurt Vonnegut
I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don’t let anybody tell you different. —Kurt Vonnegut
I heard the news early this morning that Kurt Vonnegut died. Yet another one of my teenage literary companions is gone: William S. Burroughs, Hunter S. Thompson, Robert Anton Wilson, and now Kurt Vonnegut. Who’s next?
When I was fifteen I went through a Vonnegut phase. I wasn’t a big reader then, but I have been ever since. His books helped me get through that dark, lonely period known as high school.
Dog to Ashes, Dog to Dust
As you may recall from a previous post, the Loominski family’s dog, Hooper, died. Instead of having his body stored somewhere until the ground thaws, they had him cremated. Since there wasn’t a crematorium in the area, they had his body delivered to the closest one. Yesterday, they received his ashes in the mail. Yes, that’s right, in the mail! They purchased two very small tins to split his ashes into, but they received more of Hooper than they expected. “We may have to get a big coffee container to fit that little f@%# into. Even now he’s adding frustration. Little f@%#er.”