art droppings
as you know from the previous post, I bailed out of NYC last night for a couple of days. My flight was a bit hasty, such that I jammed some clothes into my gym bag, grabbed the laptop, shut off the lights and locked the door.
Among the necessities I forgot, besides a toothbrush and comb, was my cellphone charger. What that means is that I am temporarily unable to take some quick shots of the debris, aka "sculpture," that adorns the various public spaces in Madison, Connecticut. But I'll try to follow through.
I've had little phrase, one of my own personal cliches if you will, running around in my head for years. Here it makes its debut; I don't think I've used it anywhere else because I haven't really been able to come up with the right context for it. So, anyway, the cliche is, "it must be art."
Just think about it for a second. You look at it, you don't know what the dickens it is, but it sits there, all full of itself, a hunk of deconstructionist bling-bling, screaming for attention like a kid with green spiked hair and just as out of place. Well, it ain't anything so...it must be art. OK, well, I thought it was cute, at least. But that's just me.
Getting back to the assault on Madison, this is typical Connecticut at this time in history. One town, staid, stolid Yankee. The next town, some harvard-berkeley-euro-sophisticate-peyote popping-acid hitting-new age gobbledygook. Like the black and white spaces on a chessboard.
Among the necessities I forgot, besides a toothbrush and comb, was my cellphone charger. What that means is that I am temporarily unable to take some quick shots of the debris, aka "sculpture," that adorns the various public spaces in Madison, Connecticut. But I'll try to follow through.
I've had little phrase, one of my own personal cliches if you will, running around in my head for years. Here it makes its debut; I don't think I've used it anywhere else because I haven't really been able to come up with the right context for it. So, anyway, the cliche is, "it must be art."
Just think about it for a second. You look at it, you don't know what the dickens it is, but it sits there, all full of itself, a hunk of deconstructionist bling-bling, screaming for attention like a kid with green spiked hair and just as out of place. Well, it ain't anything so...it must be art. OK, well, I thought it was cute, at least. But that's just me.
Getting back to the assault on Madison, this is typical Connecticut at this time in history. One town, staid, stolid Yankee. The next town, some harvard-berkeley-euro-sophisticate-peyote popping-acid hitting-new age gobbledygook. Like the black and white spaces on a chessboard.
