In honor of the passing of my friend, I am republishing my Joe posts
Joe and I have been discussing our Venice Biennale submission. I thought you would enjoy being in the loop. it smells like art. good thing we didn’t step in it. and deep too. Joe was fired up enough to suggest we actually make it, he being a guy who can make things and all.
in order to display our collection of meat, metal and wooden hats, we should build a “geodesic” dome (we can eyeball it). we use old metal hangers as the frame and, as the wall materials: perfectly pressed slacks, rigidly stiffened with a good hairspray, and wired to the frame. there would be a couple of windows and a door, also made out of slacks attached to a frame on hinges. perhaps shutters, also of slack. we could get one of those things restaurants sometimes attach to their doors where every time you open them, a little tune plays. in our case, we would produce our own recording, “there was an old woman / who lived in an igloo of slacks / the times were quite Roman / the facts were the facts.”
same frame, but with plastic sheeting, quilted into compartments, filled with sandwich meats packed tight, then sealed, set out in the blazing sun for discoloration and possible putrefaction. disconcerting light through the meat bags within and perhaps, wooden hats to the smell of corpse.
I added this (in my mind): around the circumference of the inside of Igloo Slacks would stand those white rectangular columns they always have in museums. the hats would be displayed on styrofoam mannequin wig heads mounted (I remember these things having a big rubber suction cup on the bottom? Or do I?) on the columns. “and here’s the kicker”: all the mannequin heads would be “interpreted” or “artistified” or whatever the “arte” word is, only by men named Steve. that would seem “conceptual” to the boners-for-eyes crowd at the V.B. some of the heads would be squashed by their hats — I’m thinking of the ‘concrete stocking cap’ in particular. but that would be more than OK. please picture the little mashed face, doodled by M— with crayons, one out-of-kilter green eye staring up out of the mashed styrofoam squishing out from underneath the gray concrete stocking cap.