J-Fish….is not a rapper, 6 1/2 guidelines to being a serious art critic, pink socks and The Story



J-Fish, acrylics on 4 canvases of 40x50cm, October2011


Random Comment:
- you got some crazy, zoned out spider going on there!

Random Reply:
> I know…and some kind of alien thing, or maybe it’s a jellyfish

Random Response:
- where’s the alien thing? Ooooh, I see it now…
 

Bonus: 6 1/2 Guidelines to being a Serious Art Critic.
(from the MC chat)

- ART IS SERIOUS! (1)

> Exactly. Spectacles ON please (2)

- I have them on…wait, let me get my ART spectacles… they are black and have thicker rims (= 1/2)

> Good. Pouting your mouth? (= 3)

- Then (4) place hand under chin in thoughtful, contemplative gesture.

> Good, good. Tapping pen against teeth…(= 5)

- (6) proclaim said piece of art “a thought provoking insight into difficult socio-economic conditions is the south of Holland”.
 

*pink sock diversion*
(from the uncensored photo) —->

THE STORY
~by Mattline Kimmick

The art critic takes a generous swig of free champagne from the nearest waiter… god, he loves gallery openings. The free booze, the inflated sense of importance…what a life it is… the life of an art critic……Still, he couldn’t quite stop thinking about her socks. Whatever was she thinking…if she wanted to make it as an artist, she’d have to smarten up… get some fashion advice. Then there was that little voice: ‘She’d need to be safe in such a bad neighborhood though, glow in the dark socks…what else can a girl do?’ Very little, he thought to himself. Ha! To have to sacrifice fashion for one’s own physical safety! ‘Must be rough in the South’ he mused… and with a gallant swing he swooped his elegant scarf over his right shoulder.
Weeks later he is still haunted by her dazzling pink socks. After three weeks of begging, she finally sends them to him in the mail. Needless to say…they are smelly. He never quite recovers…his sense of smell never does return. As he wanders through the neigborhood at night…looking lost…all people notice are those socks…hanging from his ears…it is a difficult thing to watch. A man forlorn, fallen from grace… once the figurehead of the arts community… now a love lorn straggler, communing with the night and the bottle of vodka clutched tight to his chest.

-The End- (please don’t cry)



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