Friday, October 23, 2009


If you have time listen to this Animal Collective track as you read. They're touring Australia in December.

Animal Collective - Winters Love

On we press:

The shopfront window of a Surry Hills-based design company. Yes, those are toy cars in front of the sign...that's lateral thinking like a bon-bon in bachelor's briefs.

I revisited Esther Lane after my previous post. That first print installation was a bit worse for wear, but now has some company in the form of a sprayed on man-profile. Funny though. It's meant to be symmetrical, but is as balanced as an overdose.

And in my nostalgia i crept back to the Ray Hughes Gallery. I decided to see what the building's exterior looked like, then i thought "oh snap, there's paintings of Darlinghurst people!"

In my elation i realised the artist/s that created the following series, like, think outside the cabbage patch. They blend their subject into the surrounding environment so well - as we see with the "mouth" positioned on the face of this thigh-high wearing hooker silhouette.

The average stallion's non-erect phallus is 50cm in length. While mating, the stallion's wang will harden to DOUBLE the length and probably scare the shit out of you, causing you to lapse into a coma. Hours after you wake you'll still be trying to find your wife.

So, in this image, does Eros' bastard angel-child "bridge the missing link" in men and women's erotic journey? I think the inversely positioned halo and curling cock of the subject attest to that. Or that the chain isn't actually joined signals that men and women are irreconcilably different - and completely fucked, in love.

This follows the theme of life, love and the link that joins us all. White people.

Dear Artist,

I desperately appreciate your subject matter - life - and the raw means you use to convey your love of birth, a woman's bond with her child and the mystery of abandonment. Cause, like, where's the asshole father here? Are you being cryptic? Is the stallion angel the father? Will you teach me all you know, with your wise words whispered to the harmony of a thousand orgasms?

Love always,

Oooh, what's that in the bottem-left corner of the frame?

It's beautiful. A canary yellow splash of mid-labour placenta, dotted with pretty black butterflies. It's a nice touch to this piece because it's unexpected. It's spontaneous, and that, dear lovers, is what makes life so special. Hold on, I need some tissues for my pretentiousness.

"Loading Dock: No Parking. If you ignore this sign you must face the wrath of a hundred upside-down fanny mounds. Fluoro options available."

This is the front entry to the Brett Whiteley Studio. It's a must-see if you're in the area. It's a goldmine. Currently they've got the Iconic Whiteley exhibition, so if you like 'three dimensional' painted panels (i.e. a vagina is carved into a woman's painted body) and Dali-esque sculptures then this is for you.

We've seen this thumb man before on Baptist St, Surry Hills. The artist has chosen to increase the value of real estate on Rainford St by creating another three thumbs. This one is good-looking and i'd probably stick it in my mouth as i cry myself to sleep, wishing my mother could sing me one last lullaby.

On a point of note, the thumb is so viscerally powerful that its mere gaze illuminates the model. She is the only figure in this frame not masked in shadow.

Another thumb man. This one has a large forehead, signalling a definite need for lube. Nothing worse than a thumb half-jarred up your ass, no?


Anonymous said...

The hipster is dead.

Acid Midget said...

Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. Maybe fuck yourself.