I have absolutely zero belief that posting this won’t generate blowback, but what the hell: it’s funny. And it’s not as if I don’t make fun of the non-addicted as well. We are equal-opportunity snark around these parts, I tell you.
And so we at the ol’ raincoaster blog present Allison from Intervention, remixed to her favorite tune, Walking on Sunshine which poppy summer delight will never be the same again.
Ever had one of those days? THIS, my friends, is one of those days.
DeadSee by Sigalit Landau
That’s an image from the video installation DeadSee, which was on display earlier this year (and may be still, for all I know) at MOMA in NYC. And here’s a video of the latter portion of the work, probably best viewed with the sound off, because of all the tourist-generated rhubarb in the background:
And the artist’s statement:
In the wall-sized projection DeadSee (2005), a cord connects five hundred watermelons, creating a six-meter, spiral-shaped raft on the salt-saturated waters of the Dead Sea. Secured within this sculptural configuration, the artist floats with an arm outstretched toward a collection of “wounded” fruits, their intensely red flesh revealed. The nautilus form gradually unfurls, leaving the surface of the water a nearly monochromatic azure and the artist’s body exposed.
The question is, are you buying?
I forsee different target markets for these two fine celebrity products:
Clay Aiken singing angel music box
Oh Come All Ye Faithful indeed. As someone said, this is an historic occasion: the only time Clay Aiken has ever been on top of a box.
The artist’s statement:
I thought about what the average Claymate might appreciate and after careful study, concluded that most are likely to be collectors of the sort of trinkets seen advertised in the back of Ladies Home Journal. There’s a good chance many of them own unicorn figurines, music boxes, frightening dolls, Disney trinkets, or something atrocious by Thomas Kinkade.
Seems logical enough.
Now, the market for the following is rather different. Looks like ScarJo here doesn’t have the net savvy of, say, a David Hasselhoff; she’s let a mangy old cybersquatter offer her up like Miley Cyrus on a platter to the reader who can send the filthiest email. Then again: it might be the real thing. We all know how she loves her email buddies!
Scarjo is ready when you are!
raincoaster 