(Wherein our intrepid hero ponders the merits of vandalism)
On returning from the snow, I attend the opening of the art show Cross Currents at the MCA, which I considered to be pretty darn good, whilst also taking advantage of the opportunity to check out Primavera ’07, which, to the contrary, I felt wasn’t so much a collection of art as a selection of young people showing off some clever tricks they’d figured out – how to make spray-paint paintings look like watercolours, making porcelain sponges, soap remnants and tupperware containers that look remarkably like the real thing, 3-Dimensional photo collages and hallucinatory video projections. The last of these consisted of an illuminated mattress, in the middle of a darkened room, onto which footage of a body slowly writhing beneath a sheet was projected. It was indeed an interesting sensation; watching this confluence of the 2nd and 3rd dimensional, writhing before your very eyes, was definitely akin to an induced hallucination. However, standing there, amongst a dozen or so strangers in the darkened room, all staring silently at the illusory body writhing on the mattress, with only the hiss of the air-conditioning audible, I couldn’t help but feel as though I were in the middle of a scene from one of the more bizarre 70’s movies. Something, perhaps, along the lines of The Holy Mountain, which, if you haven’t seen, I HIGHLY recommend.
I then wandered onto the second floor of the exhibit, where the aforementioned spray-paint paintings were, where I found my spirit stirred by the plaque with the title of a work, where “your” was incorrectly used instead of “you’re”. More than ever before I longed for a keyring red Sharpie, (the guerilla grammaticist’s best friend) and wondered how likely a lifetime ban on visiting the MCA would actually be enforced. In the end however, such ponderances were purely academic, as I was powerlessly penless.