SHOW AND TELL

Back to color and life in The Lou. Yesterday was a lot of work, with two events to shoot. The first was for Artica. The main festival is in early October but there is a summer program where the participants are asked to show a short demo of their piece or, if that's not practical, give a brief talk about it, maybe with diagrams.

The event took place in the back yard of a small restaurant, Milque Toast, on South Jefferson. It's a breakfast and lunch place serving all kinds of yummies on wonderful toasted bread. There is a small stage and a sort of tent to shield the audience but it was bloody hot. These women performed something very Dada-esque. The meaning was left to the viewer. 

     

Things To See At Moma...

. . . other than the show that has my photo in the book, if not out on the floor. You could look at Picasso's Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, or not. Or the clothing in the show, ranging from wild to mild. Or one of Louise Bourgeois' spiders. Or one of the museum's escalators that is awfully reminiscent of some of M. C. Escher's work. Or a Dada eye-twister. Fun for the whole family.

Dada Lives

You've probably heard of Dada, the absurdist art, or more properly anti-art, movement that flourished after World War I into the 1920s. They wrote bizarre texts, meaningless but fascinating, to challenge the sensibilities of the bourgeoisie. 

The spirit of Dada lives in contemporary restaurant advertising. I wonder what George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and John Adams would have thought of this sign (after you explained guacamole to them, of course).

Note the bit of  X ≠ X in the last line. At Qdoba, the water isn't wet, the prices on the menu are whatever you want them to be and the jalapeños are sweeter than honey.

'Twas The Night After Christmas

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What? You weren't good all year? It's not just that Santa won't leave goodies. After a brief rest from his delivery duties, there's a story that Santa makes a second round, wielding a purple pick axe in retribution to the bad.

Well, nah, I just made that up. This is something from Artica. Santa here and a companion in a florescent-colored mask were reciting and acting out a long 1916 Dadaist poem, The First Celestial Adventure of Mr. Antipyrine, Fire Extinguisher by Tristan Tzara. It was pretty bleeping bizarre. I think I'll work in a bit more of this.