Find five wrongs
Sorry I'm not updating this blog much, but it's cold here - bloody snowing in Johannesburg - and NOTHING happens here in winter. Well, except for the incessant cold fronts tipping lots of rain on me. But then, a friend sent me this photo from some random Web 2.0 upload-your-own-shit website. And I knew I had to say SOMETHING.
Now take a good loook at it. I swear I have no idea where this photo comes from, or who took it. But look. Look closer.
I thought at first that some kids had been to some formal do, spent all night drinking Hooch (does anybody drink Hooch anymore or have I just dated myself horribly?) and then struck gold with their digital camera on the way home in the morning. But nobody would be wearing a tied bow tie after 12 hours on the piss. So this must be BEFORE the party.
What is going on? Anywhere you start - the guy, the van, the police - you just end up somewhere that doesn't make any sense. But nothing beats the sowing machine. Was it salvaged from the van? What's in it? Cake? Gold? Is that why the chap in the foreground looks so chuffed? Or is this a weird sadist about to chuck it into the swollen river, containing his pet hamster? What? WHAT????
There, now I'm feeling nauseous again. I have to stop looking at this picture. I haven't felt this affected by art since seeing Damien Hirst's decomposing tapestry of dead flies in the Guggenheim. Somebody should call Charles Saatchi.
Now take a good loook at it. I swear I have no idea where this photo comes from, or who took it. But look. Look closer.
I thought at first that some kids had been to some formal do, spent all night drinking Hooch (does anybody drink Hooch anymore or have I just dated myself horribly?) and then struck gold with their digital camera on the way home in the morning. But nobody would be wearing a tied bow tie after 12 hours on the piss. So this must be BEFORE the party.
What is going on? Anywhere you start - the guy, the van, the police - you just end up somewhere that doesn't make any sense. But nothing beats the sowing machine. Was it salvaged from the van? What's in it? Cake? Gold? Is that why the chap in the foreground looks so chuffed? Or is this a weird sadist about to chuck it into the swollen river, containing his pet hamster? What? WHAT????
There, now I'm feeling nauseous again. I have to stop looking at this picture. I haven't felt this affected by art since seeing Damien Hirst's decomposing tapestry of dead flies in the Guggenheim. Somebody should call Charles Saatchi.
posted by Linda at 20:24
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