Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Artists throughout history have had that one big signature piece that defines their career. Michelangelo had his Sistine Chapel. Beethoven had his 9th. DaVinci had his Mona Lisa. Warhol had his Campbell's soup can. Henry Moore had his Reclining Figure. Groucho had his moustache...
I have my garbage cans. I can die now knowing that my contribution to mankind will go down into the annals of history.
They're a set, of course, and originally meant to be exhibited not only together but in the proper order with the proper lighting. A prompt to deposit refuge into the proper bin and a testament to the cluttered cultural makeup of my familial ancestry; all in one. While I leave their multiple installations throughout the community up to a very capable crew, sometimes circumstances prevail and they may be presented out of sequence. But then a friend goes, "Okay wait. Maybe this is allowing the pieces themselves to speak of the revolt against societies prescribed order of things." And another chips in, "Yeah, the vagaries of inanimate expression." And I shrug and say, "Cool."
Mere garbage cans no more. A social statement. I may need a manifesto.
I jest, of course.
Posted by Rand MacIvor at 7:13 AM