Perez Art Museum, Miami, 2013
Some friending and leads. Mid-point between undergrad and grad. Degrees: feeling Florida without studio privileges. World, we are your studio. Take we. Ethical returns full with assumption. Thorough enjoyment in exhibition.
Go to Art Basel, Miami. Have a time. Collective fodder, some [Undisclosed]founders. Enter Perez Museum, after ceiling tree thing, all gift shop. Front-facing gift shop: all importance. Ai Weiwei retrospective. Remark at the questionable Artistwallet ethics. Your guru Micky says, "It wants to be stolen." Put the wallet in your museum guide. Sit in the stadium seats before Weiwei quotes. All politics. Remove the word 'art' in all forms. Sharp. ie. Remove Ai's finger too. Why not? Return wallet to gift shop before leaving. You are no way with theft.
*find out someone destroyed a million dollars of Wei, way next day.*
PS1, NYC. 2015.
During class trip: coming onto second Improv Museum intervention. Capitalize impulse and compulsion, some retire. Quick, dirty, public. Wounded performance. Environment of space and a dialogical corrective. A movement. Exaggeration of the appeal and active colonial. Sentiment:desire-theft, the main determinate. Realization. Micky once said, “It wants to be stolen."
This iteration: remove a ribbon from one stuffed animal while talking to a docent. Samara Golden installation. Minutes later, photograph self in stairwell. Post a “How to Tie a Bow-tie with a Piece of Art from PS1” to a social media platform. Wear the ribbon around the museum for the afternoon. Be caught off-guard in cafe-hyphen-bookstore when New-Museum-Tiennial-included-artist you had a studio visit with weeks ago says hello to you. Be the only grad student New-Museum-Triennial-included-artist remembers. Pat self on back. Wonder why. Return the ribbon to the installation site before leaving the museum.
Contemporary Art Museum in Tampa, FL. 2012, circa undergrad body:
Some also founding member, call it now defunct, [UNDISCLOSED]collective. And, this was pre-gaming. This was me at a thrift store finding a beautiful thing: Sony Floppy Disk camera and thinking, before late-warhol-digital-art was founded, before CMUing, "I will perform with you, you amazing thing in deep, deep needs for a battery." And, then one magical day, Jane Simon (pretty sure that is her name--she is badass because she has all the Chris Burden knowledge) asked for performers for the opening night of the school's (USF's) Warhol portraits endowment, and in class I'm like, "Psst, Gigi, collab?"
we: let's be Andy clones
And I'm like, "Yo, Jane, curator lady. We are going to impersonate Andy Warhol and take pictures with an antiquated camera of ourselves in front of his Polaroids, which are very old-school also, and not print them, but instead store them as data on rainbow (for our ambiguous Pride) floppy disks and set them in front of the Polaroids as free art for event-goers to pick up. It will take us 100 hours to complete. You're welcome."
And Jane said, "Do you have a name? You should call them Warhol Capsules after his time capsules."
And I'm like, "Uh. Oh, yeah...I remembered that. Totally. That's the title, you guessed it!"
And then I bought two striped shirts and watched video of Andy Warhol eating a cheeseburger and learned that a decent Andy impersonation takes three things: bugging your eyes, propping your swedish-meatball-cheeks, and fidgeting.
gg: I really think we should do either or. I really like the black turtleneck better because it's so much simpler and I think it will look nicer within the s
gg: pace but it's up to YOU
we: I get that...but I told Jane stripes and we don't hair white hair! So we need some Andy on us...I'm buying these.
we: You're not sad, are you?
gg: It's ur proj hoe
Way with words and we art-biffs ever since.
Some endurance: 2011-2014: maniacal of course:
Every year for three years, I disseminated cigarettes with the handwritten text, "We speak with our wounds" on cheap, unbranded and/or hand-rolled cigarettes. Each time giving away over 101 cigarettes, and only one person, Noelle, ever rejected the object. Not all of them were smoked. And, I did not push and peddle to those who had knowingly quit. Wound in me too.
And this is how we learned about "wound culture" because someone named Biff thought we were smarter than we were. And, this is a Nabokov quote from epic Ada or Ardor, which like all good Nab has no explicit moral, and calls what is deemed 'taboo' into debate.
The wound is a mouth, the wound is a vagina. And we are magical portals into othered worlds. And Nabokov is Kevin Brophy's favorite author (Katie is typing). Sometimes when Kevin was small, like real, real baby bleed, she thought she was famous writers reincarnated. Never Nabokov--probably, mainly because she didn't read him until she at least had all her front teeth. Sleaze. But, has definitely thought she was Kafka, Dickinson, and Plath--later Hesse and Millay and Ballard as well. Do we lose magical thinking, Burroughs? When Kevin dreamed her future: it was all three-piece suits, spectacles, and gray beard.
*make we Man suit, real quick, real world. some equality*