I try to be helpful, so I wrote these for my fellow artistés here on the Gog. On a bad run, you can always refer to these brilliant ideas of “mine” that were actually, if truth be told, and it shall be here, given to me by my “bad Genii,” by way of courier, to my “good Genii, so I could share them with you.
TO BRING YOU
––– Paint thick oils of Andy Warhol in his style, from pictures cribbed from magazine photos, like: “Blue Dog” in New Orleans, only make it: “BLUE ANDY.”
To pull this off you should be either Cajun, Haitian, or Iranian with a sense of humor so dry it’s an actual fire hazard. Also, don’t talk about the paintings much at all. Don’t say anything and watch what happens. Just whisper, “cash …” and let it go.
––– Use fertilizer to spray the face of Jesus on a field of grass facing a freeway with ample off-ramp parking. When thousands of pilgrims gather, use a bullhorn and announce that you did it to fuck with their religion for ART. They will kill you. Good. You’ll be famous forever and ever, amen.
––– Produce a book called:
THE COFFEE TABLE
BOOK OF CELEBRITY X-RAYS
Introduction by Elizabeth Taylor’s
Famous Hip Replacement Surgeon
“An Intimate Peek Inside Some
of America’s Biggest Scars!”
––– Stick-up a BIG Art Gallery, like Diego Rivera stuckup the Reforma Hotel in Mexico City to repaint the words: “God Is Dead,” from the headline of a newspaper in his famous mural. Make them give you a show of the your slantering works on paper, conveniently held in a tube under your arm, with a box of industrial aluminum push pins. Tell the judge you were living on “Twinkies” like Dan Brown did after he shot Harvey Milk and the Mayor, and therefore suffered from, “diminished capacity.” Then write a book in prison about it, and it will be made into a Hollywood movie, and, there you go. Do a “prison works” for the show you’ll have on release, by the same gallery you stuck-up, with red carpet and searchlights. I know a dealer for your prison works. Call me.
(PS. It’s a freakin’ joke, okay. Do not actually do this unless you work it out with the gallery in advance and use rubber pistolas.)
––– Get admitted to a mental hospital, (easy,) then use State video supplies to DVD your own: “Art Lobotomy.” Be sure all your nuthouse paintings are finished before the procedure and have a trustworthy agent with Power of Attorney to take care of the business end, Oh, and hire pretty nurses to change your diapers like Hugh Hefner did. Sorry Hugh. Having done the same thing, I know you, guy, of all people will not be offended. Hey, you did it on National television, okay. Do not mess with an old queen.
––– Make art objects that look like bombs.
Sculptures that tick-tock, whiz-wop, sparkle-sput, fizzle-fut, spurt-squirt, chime, ding, whistle and whir, the art lover’s never knowing when one will set off a fog horn guaranteed to pump adrenaline to the point of madness.
At your “Bomb Show” opening ––– which believe me, will NOT bomb ––– wear a black t-shirt that in white block letters reads, “… you lookin’ at me …?” Carry a fake “detonator” in your hand that you can push to cause various sculptures to emit the sound of Baghdad civilians dying as uranium hardened shell casings explode, devastating the civilian population and polluting the area with radioactive dust causing birth defects for generations. The US uses these bombs exclusively, even though they are banned by International Consent and Agreement, leaving Uncle Sam with his pants not only down, but redder than a Fascist Corporate baboons. Oh, that’s right …
––– Use all sorts of metal rod, steel, aluminum, copper, bronze, etc., to make amazing sculpture cages for “SLAVES TO ART,” to be locked up in naked, freezing, smeared in feces, bitten by vicious police dogs: then punished with Norwegian Black Metal out of highly directional, full decibel, Bose (Army issue) special-ops torture speakers 24-7 for the rest of their lives.
–––Open the “First Church of Art Temple and Gift Shop Gallery” where every work is a sacrament, every sale a tax free write-off donation, and every artist delivers a sermon from a high golden throne at their opening.
––– Tattoo genetically altered pigs that Monsanto recently altered to produce “cow skin.” Hey, I know a good thing when I see one. Then tan the hides for making high fashion leather jackets. A joke. Lighten up, okay. Fine. Buy a fresh pig skin ready for tanning, then. Use a tattoo machine and have fun until it starts to smell bad. Then freeze it and do another. When you have enough of them for your jacket project, take them out of the freezer and to a taxidermist who will tan them for you. PETA publicity alone will rocket you into the “Big Time.”
––– How about a desert motel where the walls of the rooms have lighted built-in show cases of unbreakable glass, where rattle snakes and scorpions, tarantulas and iguana’s live in safety, yet can be viewed from the bed in your own private room.
––– Paint with dogs. Using large paper of the type used in photo studios, some twenty feet wide that comes in rolls. In your warehouse, put down a huge piece of paper, then dip some dogs in Higgins and water (nontoxic of course) and set them on the paper and run. The shake patterns would be amazing. Because ink is so flexible and magickal, these could be amazing, and would sell, as people who love dogs have huge places to hang them now. People want large art. Fifteen x fifteen and stuff. The dogs would love it too. Sell them in your “Dog Art Gallery.” A sure winner.
––– Open a hotel with a Victorian brothel theme.
Need I say more …
––– Design an art board game called, “Sell Out,” so funny it’s like underground monopoly, where unknown artists in boho ghettos work their way from street shows, through “selling out” to big galleries, dealers, sycophants, art stars, schools, periods, all leading to a museum in the middle, the ideal being a “one man show” at the Moma.
––– Get your P.I. license and make: “Surveillance Art.”
––– Make art out of food, that’s really good, but only “starving artists” can eat it, and they have to prove they are starving. First off, they have to be amazingly skinny, and full of self pity and rage. Then they can eat the art. Overweight pissed off artists can eat too, after they prove their work is from their street balls.
––– Open: “The Dog Art Gallery,” where dogs are not only welcome to run free, they might even lift the occasional leg on their own bronze fire hydrant sculpture in the garden area. A sure hit.
––– Become the founder of: “The Boy ART Scouts Of America.”
––– Leave your family, move to Tahiti, then instead of painting naked island women and getting syphilis, go into banking.
––– Declare yourself: “King of International Fucking Art,” like Michael Jackson declared himself King of Fucking Pop. Then decree: “From this day hence: All physical morons of the realm have the right to command all yuppies that they lift their shirts on order, any place, any time. If six-pac abs are found, the offending party must allow one homeless family a week to scrub their underwear and socks clean on their washboard bellies for the next year.”
––– Make massive Art candles 30 feet high and two feet thick for the center of a mall. Drip candles, of course. Over weeks, they safely drip and get shorter, until a huge pile of wax is at the bottom, beautifully sculpted by nature. Roped off of course.
––– Award yourself dozens of humorous generic ART awards for excellence in everything you can think of. Work with the trophy maker to produce large, elaborately decorated trophies until you have three dozen or so. Then have a cabinet maker create the perfect display to hold them all so you can be photographed at the opening, then sell the whole thing for a million dollars.
––– Go to Albania, the poorest country in Europe, and find the best, most unknown yet highly talented oil painter and exploit them in the U.S. They’ll love you for it, and you’ll get rich and have a prestigious humanitarian aura, you pig.
- Dave Archer