Counting Cats in Zanzibar Rotating Header Image

I am not Farticus!

You know what the intermong is like: link, link, link…?

I recently discovered this utter gem:

Which is serendipitous. Sort of.

Spartacus Chetwynd (born Lali Chetwynd, 1973) is a British artist known for reworkings of iconic moments from cultural history in deliberately amateurish and improvisatory performances.

You want “amateurish” and improsivatory” performances you should have seen me trying to get a Dell to work with a claw-hammer back in 1998. There would also have been foul language (which I am given to understand is de rigeur in the farts and shitterature these days – I think I called it a right Compaq – at least that is what the owner thought they’d heard…). I don’t tend to use claw-hammers and foul language (that may be a lie) these days for it upsets the cat. Having said that I have never left the “present” of half a mouse on his bed so he can fuck off too. Or…

In 2012, she was nominated for the Turner Prize.

You don’t say.

And when I pissed in a White Lightning bottle and posted it to ‘em they tried to get a restraining order… For shame! My fault for I did science at university and perhaps more appallingly I also did a life drawing class there (optional extra that I paid like a couple of quid a week for and didn’t count for credit) in which I attempted to render a simulacrum of a nude model. Now call me disgracefully old-fashioned (or even staggeringly avant-garde) but I kinda thought being able to draw a nude and make it look like the subject was sort of the point of art. I have also done watercolour landscapes but then that puts me firmly in the antedeluvian class of Turner and such. I have never therefore artistically challenged anyone but unlike a zoo monkey I have never flung dung at anyone either. So, I never artistically dared anyone to keep their stomach contents on the inside either. If I had I’d probs be a sodding millionaire.

I once visited an installation (long story) which consisted of walking down a tunnel of “used” tampons. That was a Newcastle University MA exhibition. For my master’s degree I had to write a thesis on Gödel. Oh, well, the nature of spacetime or jam-rags? And they weren’t even real (the tampons spacetime is very real – it’s like where we live). I met the artist and the thing is she explained it all. Directly opposite Newcastle University is a Boots and she had a lot of red-dye so… I on the other hand merely had to figure out stuff about one of the greatest (and frequently abtuse) mathematicians of all time’s contribution to the feory of Gen Rel.

Sometimes you wonder who is mad?

The filmed performance of the piece by Ms Spartacus was summarised by Adrian Searle as, “The young woman who rode to her own death on the dildo see-saw at the Sugar-Tits Doom Club,” and described by Richard Dorment as, “Silly beyond words and teetered at times on the edge of porn – but once you start looking at it I defy you to tear yourself away.

Dirty old fuckers who would come (in every sense) to the opening of a school-girl’s bra.

So basically neither porn nor art but some crapulence (arguably) “in-between” and worth the cunteth-root of fucketh all anyway. Kinda reminds me of a laptop I was asked to fix once. Nice piece of kit. High-end Acer. Now this otherwise attractive young-ish woman (the video codecs had gone to Hell so I was pointed in the direction of the videos) was naked on the machine, clearly like 7 months preggers and frigging herself into a fury whilst declaiming utter wank – or poetry as it is otherwise known. Well, I fixed the Codecs and the videos looked OK – for a certain value of OK. Her Mum, who gave me the minor task (and rewarded me with a pack of Stella – I would have preferred money which can also be exchanged for Belgian lager) said her daughter was an “artist”. What I didn’t manage to fix (Nick doesn’t do hardware with lappies) was the supremely fucked Firewire port. I’m like a doctor or a priest (I’ve heard it all before and I do not judge – more like a priest really because doctors are the most preachy fuckers on this planet) and I really don’t care what preversities you get up to with your Turing Machine (nobody gets to look at mine! – and it is encrypted to Angband and back).

But, I like to know what the score is if aksed (sic) for a fix. I have seen some fuckaroos in my time mind. I got it on for the DV being in the right colours but not on the IEE 1394 (because she was an artist I didn’t know if the vids were meant to be like that but I got it to look real and that was deemed OK – for a certain value of OK. I asked if a child had ever had access. I was told, “No!” but my tongue said otherwise (One wouldn’t have thought taste was that important but any (Firewire) port in a storm) for it had been buggered with strawberry jam and I had tasted it and I knew the owner had a small boy and there was a shed-load of Barney the Dinosaur vids on the HD. Not that I could fix the bugger, mind. Well, you have to de-solder the IEE 1394 from the board and replace it and I’ll be fucked if I’m doing that. I did fix the Codecs mind.

So, art… Well, I’m gonna get on my high horse now. Because my last trip was to Paris and the Louvre and the Musee d’Orsay boast some of the finest works of art in the Universe. Why else do ya think I was paying EUR 3 for a sodding Coke when I can get one just down the road from Sayeed for 65p? And you need to take out a mortgage to buy a sandwich. A fine city but not a cheap one. Prague on the other hand is both fine and cheap. Last time I Czech-ed it was ace. I was staying with my sister-in-law and her boyfriend in Poland and he drives us just over the border (that is really weird for a Brit – the idea of having a border eight miles away) and we go to a pub and eat a Czech specialty – deep fried cheese, have some smokes and a couple of excellent beers – because the Czech Republic is a civilized place – as is Poland. The Poles do mighty fine vodka but for beer give me the Czechs any day. And that was also the opinion of my Polish host. But the deep-fried cheese was to die for! Oh and near the pub was an L-39 LIFT (look it up) on static display and a T-34. Cool!

Anyway, art?

Whatever!

(I’d move to Prague tomorrow if I could make head or tail of the preverse lingo).

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: